


as the sun will rise

by achilleees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Dragonstone, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Jon Snow Knows Something, Prince Jon Snow, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16124981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleees/pseuds/achilleees
Summary: “I am weary of battle, and I will do what it takes to ensure I can avoid it,” Daenerys said. “You will stay in Dragonstone, Prince, until I trust that your family heeds my words.”Jon stiffened. “My father will not be pleased to see me as a hostage,” he said.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so I wanted to write something self-indulgent in the canon-verse, but everything is sooo complicated and grimdark in the books, so I veered wildly off-course and changed whatever I felt like. Basically Dany's story from the books happened, but nothing in Westeros did. Think of it as Game of Thrones with low (read: no) stakes. Or more accurately, it's Beauty and the Beast, and Jon Snow is Beauty.
> 
> I kept the characterizations mostly the same, but get pumped for sassy book-Jon, not angsty show-Jon, and I totally rewrote Jorah because Jorah is trash.
> 
> Rated for future chapters.

Dragonstone was even darker and grimmer than Jon had imagined, though it was hard to take it seriously when even their privies had dragon heads for door handles.

“We get it,” Jon muttered to Rodrik, “you all have a fetish.”

Rodrik chuckled. “The dragonlords may have gone a bit overboard,” he agreed.

“By the old ones,” Jon said, catching sight of a tower carved like a sleeping dragon out the window. “And I thought King’s Landing was grotesquely overstated. This place makes the Red Keep look elegant.”

“Demure, even,” Rodrik agreed.

Jon could only distract himself for so long, and when they reached the massive stone doors of the Great Hall, he could only muster a weak smirk that the doors were carved like the mouth of a dragon. He set his hand on the hilt of his sword, as much to hide its shaking as to draw attention to his weapon.

“The Queen will see you now,” said the hulking knight, catching the handle and swinging it open – quite an impressive feat of muscle, Jon could tell.

He flattened his expression and strode inside, all the way up the long aisle until he reached the throne at the end, where the young queen sat.

She was as beautiful as all the stories said, he found.

“Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons,” called the young girl with dark skin and penetrating golden eyes at her side.

“That’s a mouthful,” Jon said.

The Queen’s eyes flickered with amusement, but her lips didn’t twitch from their flat line. “My friends call me Dany. But you are not my friend, Prince in the North,” she said, her voice surprisingly low for her diminutive frame.

“By whose declaration do you claim that?” Jon said. “I would not name myself your enemy.”

“Your family gathers its armies and prepares for war, and you stand before me and call yourself my friend?” she said, eyes flashing.

“To defend, not to attack,” Jon said heatedly. “We have seen you conquer your way through every kingdom in Westeros. We only prepare ourselves for the inevitable.”

Daenerys laughed. “Do you think I _missed_ the North on my campaign? I somehow forgot about the kingdom above the Twins when I was leading my armies? Or was I so distracted by the Iron Islands that I decided they were the greater threat?”

Jon hesitated. “Knowing that _we_ were the greatest threat to your dominion, you saved us for last so you could unleash your full might on us,” he said.

“Hardly,” Daenerys said. “I have no interest in your barren wastes, Lord of Ice and Snow. I did not come here to conquer the nine kingdoms and reign as a god from above – I came here to reclaim the land that was taken from me.”

Jon and Rodrik exchanged a glance.

“No matter if you believe me,” Daenerys said. “We will each keep spies in each other’s courts, and at the first rumblings of treachery we will muster ourselves for battle. But you will see, I will not be the catalyst of war. I do not lie when I say I am no threat to Winterfell.”

“I see,” Jon said carefully. “And you summoned me here to say that?”

Daenerys nodded. “I summoned you to say, if your family insists on war, I will meet them and I will crush them.”

“Noted,” Jon said. “I will deliver that message to my father the King in the North, and he will judge for himself whether to trust your words.”

“No,” she said. “Your steward will deliver that message.”

Jon stared at her, feeling Rodrik go tense at his side.

“I am weary of battle, and I will do what it takes to ensure I can avoid it,” Daenerys said. “You will stay in Dragonstone, Prince, until I trust that your family heeds my words.”

Jon stiffened. “My father will not be pleased to see me as a hostage,” he said.

“Then he should seek to gain my favor all the quicker,” she said. “You return to Winterfell when he earns it, and no sooner.”

“And how do you expect them to do that?” Jon said.

Daenerys hesitated. “A sword was recently stolen from a keep in the far south,” she said. “Starfall. You’ve heard of it?”

“Dawn,” Jon said numbly. “Someone stole Dawn?”

Daenerys nodded. “And I expect you know of Dawn’s legendary abilities as well.”

“The only sword capable of piercing dragonhide,” Jon said.

“Someone seeks to slay my dragons,” she said. She looked straight at Rodrik. “Deliver that sword to me, and your Prince walks free. Not a day sooner.”

“My Lady,” he said, bowing.

She pursed her lips, but didn’t correct the title, though they all knew the insult he’d meant. She looked back at Jon. “And if you try to escape, or if anyone comes to engineer a rescue, I will take that as a sign of aggression and I will ride Drogon to Winterfell and see how your mighty keep holds against dragonfire, not before putting every town on my path to the torch. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Jon muttered, fingers tight around the hilt of his sword.

“Good,” she said. “You are excused. Best be on your way soon, Lord Steward. It’s a long journey back to Winterfell.”

 

“Fuck!” Jon said, slamming his fist into the stone wall, relishing the ache. “I should have known she wasn’t going to let me walk away.”

“Your father will not be pleased,” Rodrik said. “He might consider her actions a sign of war himself.”

“No,” Jon said, spinning to look at him, wild-eyed. “Convince him otherwise. You and I have seen the size of her armies. It would be suicide to draw their assault.”

“I know that,” Rodrik said.

“Tell my father that I am safe and being treated with respect,” Jon said. “The Dragon Queen is merciless to her enemies but treats her allies well. He has no need to fear for my well-being.”

“You don’t know that to be true,” Rodrik pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jon said. “I _will_ not be the spark that starts a war, if it can be avoided.”

“Wise words,” Rodrik said. “I will do my best to turn his Grace away from conflict.”

Jon nodded jerkily. “Dawn – did you know it was stolen?”

Rodrik shook his head.

“Fuck,” Jon hissed through his teeth, pacing in a tight circle. “Why can’t she get back her own damn sword? This isn’t my problem.”

“Yes, revealing to her enemies that the most viable threat to her greatest weapons is missing was an interesting choice,” Rodrik said placidly.

Jon turned to him, narrow-eyed. “You see her intention?”

“I do,” Rodrik said. “Do you?”

Jon went to the window and looked out over the churning waters of the bay below. “Well… I suppose whoever stole the sword would be more inclined to reveal its existence to a potential ally,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Rodrik said. “If a scion of House Stark is asking around about acquiring the sword that can slay a dragon, the thief might take it as a blessing and reveal themselves in order to collaborate against the Queen – or so they’ll believe. If a known ally of House Targaryen does, the thief will never come forward.”

Jon nodded. That made sense.

“And…?” Rodrik said.

Jon stared blankly at him. “And what?”

Rodrik sighed. “And it’s a test.”

“A – oh,” Jon said, realizing. “She’ll know she can trust us if we get our hands on the most viable threat to her greatest weapons, and hand it over instead of using it against her. Only then will she know for sure that House Stark is not her enemy.”

Rodrik nodded.

“Bit of a risk for her,” Jon murmured, turning back to the window.

“I don’t think she’s gotten where she is by playing it safe,” Rodrik said. “That, or she trusts her military might to face down House Stark even with Dawn in hand.”

Jon frowned. “Return to Winterfell,” he said. “And whatever you do, don’t let my father call his banners for war.”

“My Prince,” Rodrik said, bowing.

 

Jon quickly found himself incredibly bored.

He walked the length of Dragonstone end to end, accompanied by his ubiquitous guards, and explored the grounds as well. He climbed every tower, opened every door, searched every hallway. He went down to the caves where obsidian glistened in the dim light, running his hands over the smooth walls and feeling the grooves with his fingertips. He traversed the perimeter of the entire island, beaches and crags alike, smirking at the grunts and clangs of armor as his guards struggled to follow his climbs over the slick rocks that threatened to spill him into the sea below.

But even that could only hold his attention for so long, and after a few days he gave up and went searching for other means.

Throwing open his door, he said to the guards outside, “You speak Common, don’t you?”

They looked at each other. “Yes,” said one of them in a thick accent.

“Good,” Jon said. “What is there to do here?”

They looked at each other again.

“When you’re not at your posts, how do you entertain yourselves?” Jon said. “Surely you don’t just rot of boredom all day.”

“Riding,” said one of them. “Falconry.”

“Practice in the yard,” said the other. “Sparring.”

“Reading.”

“Swimming.”

“Wrestling.”

“Dicing and cards.”

“Wait,” Jon said, intrigued. “Where would you do that?”

 

There was a still silence when they walked into the tavern, then a low murmuring swept around the place.

The barkeep hurried over and bowed before him, saying something in the foreign language of the people across the sea, all rounded vowels and rolled Rs.

Jon glanced back at the younger of his two guards – brothers, he’d learned, and Ereck was the more talkative one.

Ereck said something back to the barkeep in that alien language.

The barkeep stared at him, then replied uncertainly.

“No one speaks Common here?” Jon asked Glen, the older brother.

“The Queen requires her personal retinue to learn Common, but she lets the regular folk choose for themselves,” Glen said. “You’ll find broken Common here and there.”

Jon frowned a little. Was he going to have to learn Valyrian? Damn.

At some cue he didn’t catch, Ereck nodded him forward and a space cleared at the table for him, the occupants watching him warily.

Jon took a seat. “Teach me the rules,” he told Glen.

“They’re complex,” Glen warned.

“I’ll remember,” Jon said.

“It’s a four-player game,” Glen started. “You play in a team with the person across from you.”

Jon nodded to the stranger across the table, who nodded back uncertainly.

“You want to win three of the five tricks per hand,” Glen said. “Everybody gets dealt a card. The suit of the lowest card is trump. Then you get dealt four more cards face-down. You play five tricks –”

“And whichever team wins three between them wins the hand,” Jon said.

“Right,” Glen said, nodding. “Winner of the trick leads the next one.”

“And the winner is… the person who plays the highest card of the suit led, unless the card is trumped?” Jon guessed. “Do I have to follow suit?”

Glen nodded approvingly. “No, not necessary. Kings are high, twos are low.”

“Except in the trump suit,” Ereck interjected. “That’s where things get… tricky.”

“Just tell me,” Jon said. “I’ll remember.”

“Alright,” Glen said dubiously. “Jack of trump always wins. Seven of trump beats all cards except the jack of trump, if it’s the first card played in a trick. Otherwise it ranks just as a seven of the suit led, not trump.”

“Six of trump beats all cards but the jack and leading seven,” Ereck said. “Two of trump beats all but jack, leading seven, and six. Three beats all but jack, leading seven, six, two, and leading king of any suit.”

“Four beats all but jack, leading seven, six, two, two, or leading king or queen of any suit,” said Ereck. “Five beats…”

Jon’s eyebrows gradually crept higher up his face as they spoke.

 

It was the custom in this bar to take a drink when your opponent won a trick, Jon learned, and he was dizzyingly drunk by the time the seventh hand rolled around – the winning hand, Ereck told him.

The opposing team were discussing strategy and looking consideringly between their cards and the pile of copper stars at the center of the table, the amount of which had gradually crept upwards over the course of the game. Jon would have called bullshit on the table-talk, if Glen hadn’t already told him it was allowed in the game, and if he weren’t exerting most of his concentration on sitting straight in his seat without wavering.

Finally, the man to his right put down a card, and they started the game. Jon squinted at his cards and tried to remember if the six of trump had any special attributes he should know about.

They lost the first trick, won the next two, lost the fourth.

The whole room was watching and not bothering to hide it, men gathered around them in a close pack, even the barmaids pausing to catch the end of the bout. The air was thick and hot, smelling strongly of mead and sweat, and the back of Jon’s neck itched with the number of people he could feel staring at him.

It was with great smugness – and no small amount of relief that he wouldn’t have to drink anymore – that Jon put the six of spades on the table.

The whole place burst into shouts and whistles, a dozen different hands clapping down on his shoulders, and his partner across the table beamed and clanged his mug against Jon’s. Glen and Ereck whooped behind him.

Jon swept his gaze around the room and weighed the atmosphere, making a decision in a moment. He waved down Ereck and told him, “Put my half of the winnings towards a bar tab for everyone here.”

Ereck’s eyes twinkled, and he called something in Valyrian that made the whole bar go even wilder, a great cheer sweeping through the place.

Jon sat back, smirking.

 

Jon made his way slowly and methodically through the keep, one hand braced on the stone wall for balance so he wouldn’t tip over. He hadn’t been allowed to leave the tavern for some time, and he was too drunk to remember the path to his rooms, guided there only by Ereck’s directions.

“Oh!” he heard from right in front of him, and jerked up his head to find Daenerys staring at him.

It was his reflex to call her his Queen, which she wasn’t, and he couldn’t think of any appropriate titles in his drunken state. “Hello,” he said stupidly.

“Is he… ill?” Daenerys said.

Ereck and Glen coughed and shuffled behind him.

“Is he drunk?” Daenerys said, now delighted.

“Perhaps,” Ereck said.

“What happened?” Daenerys said. “Seven, how much did he have?”

Neither of them answered.

“Ereck,” Daenerys said, followed by a stream of Valyrian.

Yes, he definitely had to learn Valyrian, he decided.

Ereck answered back at length, and Daenerys looked back at Jon. “You paid for their drinks?” she said. “Seeking to win the favor of my people?”

It had seemed prudent to befriend the Dragon Queen’s household, yes – show them that the Northroners were not their enemies, and make them think twice about killing him if it came to it. “I don’t need the money,” said Jon, shrugging.

“I’m sure,” Daenerys said, laughter in her voice. “Alright, take him to bed, he’s in no state to be wandering the castle. Make sure he gets there in one piece.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Glen said, putting a steadying hand between Jon’s shoulders and pushing him along.

Jon would have protested the treatment, but it was incredibly helpful.

 

He awoke in the morning to a knock on the door that clamored in his brain like being inside a bell tower, groaning and covering his head with a pillow. The knocking continued, and finally he staggered out of bed to the door, opening it and glaring out at his visitor. “Yes?” he growled.

“My Queen said you had a… headache, and bade me bring you a potion to soothe it,” said the young girl he’d seen standing at Daenerys’ side so many times. “She also invites you to join her in her solar, once you feel up to it.”

Jon winced and bowed to her, taking the potion from her before shutting the door. He downed it in one go then collapsed back in bed, more than ready to fall back into sleep.

Then he sat up with a sigh.

He rinsed his face and hands in the basin and looked up at himself in the mirror, noting his red eyes and the pallor to his skin. No more getting outrageously drunk, he decided, and dressed in a clean set of clothes that hadn’t been slept in, belting on his sword and slipping his customary dagger up his sleeve.

Then he made his way to Daenerys’ solar, grateful to have a different pair of guards flanking his steps so he didn’t have to face Ereck’s smirk the whole way.

He stepped inside the room and looked around. This was the only suite of rooms that had been shut off to his exploration. The rooms were open and airy with enormous windows that suffused the room with light, everything white and pretty and clean.

Daenerys sat on the window seat with her feet tucked under her, wearing a gauzy blue dress that draped over her such that Jon couldn’t tear his eyes away for a long moment. She was laughing, which was mesmerizing in a different way, and when she heard his footsteps she turned to him with twinkling eyes.

He’d never noticed how bright they were before.

“Prince Jon,” she said, waving him over. “Meet Ser Jorah, my valued vassal and dear friend.”

Jorah waved lazily from his place across a low table, his feet propped up on the edge of it, chair tilted back. He was swarthy and black-bearded, with sharp almond eyes and a curling half-smile that promised secrets behind it.

“Vassal?” Jon said slowly, noting how comfortable Jorah looked in her chambers. “And what do you do for the Dragon Queen, Ser Jorah?”

“Whatever she needs me to,” Jorah said in flawless Common, no hint of an accent. “A little of this, a little of that.”

“I see,” Jon said. Her spymaster, he decided, or her assassin, or some other unsavory sort. And quite possibly her lover as well. “Well met, Ser Jorah.”

“And you, Prince of the North,” Jorah said, nodding.

“Was there something you wanted, Queen Daenerys?” Jon asked her.

“You should have told me how tedious you found my keep,” Daenerys said. “If I knew how bored you were, I would have sent you entertainment sooner.”

Jon shrugged, not denying it.

Daenerys laughed again. “I do appreciate your lack of courtly pleasantries,” she said, pleased. “Anyway, I have something that might entertain you. Have you heard of cyvasse?”

“Heard of it, never played it. We play chess up North,” Jon said.

“They’re… similar,” Daenerys said. “Games of strategy, played by different pieces on a board that have different attributes. Would you like to learn?”

Jon nodded.

“It’s even more complicated than Karnoffel – the card game you learned yesterday,” she said. “Just to warn you what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I consider that a bonus,” Jon said.

“Splendid!” she said, rising. “Then I leave you in Jorah’s capable hands.”

“I – what?” Jon said.

“Oh, I’m terrible at cyvasse, I don’t have the patience for it,” she said. “Jorah is an excellent strategist, I’m sure he’ll be quite challenging enough to keep you entertained.”

“I see,” Jon said, looking at Jorah, who smirked. “Only if you have the time to waste, Ser Jorah.”

“For an honored guest?” Jorah said, spreading his arms out. “Anything.”

 

Jon had his chin rested on his cupped hands, eyeing Jorah’s dragon and gauging the threat to his elephants. He was probably playing too aggressively, a beginner’s mistake, but he couldn’t see a way forward without losing one of them in the charge. “What?” he said.

“Hm?” Jorah said.

“You’re staring,” Jon said.

“Just admiring the view,” Jorah said. “You’re a handsome man, Prince Jon.”

Jon scowled at him.

“I’ve heard tales of Northron finery, but you’re more beautiful than I expected,” Jorah said. “No wonder Dany decided to keep you around.”

Her friends called her Dany, Jon remembered. “She kept me here because I’m her collateral to keep my father docile,” he said.

“Aye, that’s one reason,” Jorah agreed. “Although if you think that’s the only one, you’re as naïve as Northroners are jested to be.”

Jon scowled deeper. “I’m a prince,” he said. “I’m not going to bed a foreign queen and risk getting entangled in that kind of mess.”

“Moon tea,” said Jorah flippantly. “You have that up North, don’t you?”

Jon drew up straighter, tight with rage. “We treat our ladies with honor up North,” he said. “I don’t suppose that’s something an Essosi would understand.”

“I’m no Essosi, but to your point, they treat their ladies with respect for their own choices,” Jorah said, still smiling. “Anyway, I don’t mean to pry. If you’re not interested in her Grace, then you’re not interested.”

Disinterest was not the problem, Jon thought, but he wasn’t engaging in that. “Yes,” he said.

“Although, if you do have any requests for entertainment of a more… clandestine sort, you should know, I am at your service,” Jorah said.

“I don’t –!” Jon started.

“Not myself,” Jorah said, laughing openly. “But I can arrange companionship. Say the word, and all your desires can be fulfilled.”

“I have no desires,” said Jon stiffly.

“If you say so,” Jorah said, shrugging. “Her Majesty need not be informed.”

Jon hesitated.

“Ah?” Jorah said.

“No, not that,” Jon said, glaring. “There is something else I was considering, if your Queen need not be informed… But I don’t know if I can trust you with discretion. You and she seem… close.”

“We are,” Jorah said. “But every man needs his secrets, and I respect that. How can I serve you?”

“I’d like to learn Valyrian,” Jon said. “And Dothraki, if possible.”

“Ah,” Jorah said, smiling. “You don’t like all these conversations happening around you that you can’t understand.”

Jon nodded.

“It’s a dangerous weapon to put in your hand – my Queen might reveal something… intimate in your presence without knowing you’re aware,” Jorah said. “On the other hand, it sounds funny, and she deserves to be taken down a peg every once in a while.”

“It’s a good lesson for your Queen to learn,” Jon said, “not to let her guard down, even when she thinks she’s safe.”

Jorah tipped his head back and laughed. “A good point well made, my friend, and for that I will grant your wish. Lessons in Valyrian and Dothraki, and Dany need never know.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, then turned his attention back to the game board. That dragon was going to be a problem, but he could solve it.

 

He ran into Daenerys in the hallway again that evening. They paused in the hall, their guards forming a ring around them. “How was your game of cyvasse with Jorah?” Daenerys said. “Did you enjoy it?”

“We hadn’t finished when he was called to your council,” Jon said. He frowned. “I think I’m losing, though.”

Daenerys laughed. “Everyone loses their first time. What matters is whether you learn from your mistakes. I never do – Jorah always says I need to learn that there are other pieces at play than just my dragon.”

“Careful,” Jon said, smirking. “If you don’t watch your words, I’m going to start strategizing about something other than cyvasse.”

Daenerys’ eyes twinkled, vividly purple. “I thought you _weren’t_ going to start a conflict against me, Prince of the North.”

“About that, actually,” Jon said, and her gaze sharpened. “I have some questions?”

“In my solar,” she said. “Missandei, could you have some tea sent up?”

“My Queen,” Missandei – the young girl from before – said.

She led him back to her solar and unlocked the door, taking the window seat again and gesturing for him to join her on the wide ledge. “So?”

Jon glanced around the solar, distracted again by the décor, so much more pleasant and bright than anything else in the dark hell-pit that was Dragonstone.

“Do you like it?” she said.

“Very much,” he said. “Unfortunate that whoever designed these rooms didn’t architect the rest of Dragonstone.”

Daenerys laughed, delighted. “I appreciate that,” she said. “I had it built myself. Everything here is so dark and dreary, I needed a place to get away from that.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “So you’re aware? I wasn’t sure.”

“Oh, Seven, yes,” she said. “This place is _awful_. Do you think I like having dragons literally everywhere I turn? My ancestors needed a few lessons on subtlety.”

“It is truly terrible,” Jon agreed. “People think Winterfell is cold and dreary, but compared to this, it’s heaven.”

“Tell me more of Winterfell,” she said, as a cart of tea was wheeled over and left next to them. She picked up a mug. “I’m curious.”

“It’s stone, like here,” Jon said. “But because it’s so cold up North, all of the walls and floors are covered in carpets and tapestries, and they change the whole feeling. It’s built over hot springs, which is piped through the walls and chambers, so even in the dead of winter the castle is warm.”

“Oh?” she said, fascinated. “I’d never heard that.”

Jon nodded. “Only my family has access to the springs themselves, deep under the castle. They’re said to be filled with minerals that improve your health and strength.”

“That sounds _amazing_ ,” she said. “I miss the hot baths of Volantis more than I’d like to admit, especially when I look around at all of… this.” She glanced around, expression wry with distaste.

Jon nodded. “Actually, that was one of my questions.”

“Oh?”

“Why settle in Dragonstone?” he said. “King’s Landing is no paradise itself, but it’s not – _this_.” He matched her distaste, and then some.

“Because King’s Landing is the seat of the throne of the nine kingdoms, and I do not rule the nine kingdoms,” she said patiently. “I am a true Targaryen Queen, and I rule my family’s empire from my ancestral throne.”

“So it’s a statement,” Jon said, considering this. “To my father.”

“Your father, and my own people,” Daenerys said. “I am not my father, and I am not the usurper king. I will not repeat their mistakes. I forge my own path in Dragonstone.”

“I see,” Jon said. “But you do see the flaw in your logic.”

She sipped her tea and waited from him to continue.

“You say you’re taking back your family’s empire, but the Iron Islands were never part of your family’s empire,” he said. “You can see why my father would be worried, given…”

“Ah,” she said, curling her lip. “Yes. The Iron Islands. I wasn’t going to conquer them, but when I’d taken the Reach, the Tyrells told me of the trouble caused by the reavers along the coast. Then I took the Westerlands and Lord Tywin told me how they rape and murder the women in front of their own children. I couldn’t let that threat to my people go unanswered.”

“I did notice that the only lord you killed and replaced was Lord Greyjoy,” Jon said. “I didn’t think that was an accident.”

“He’s a twisted man and he deserved worse than I gave him,” said Daenerys flatly. “The things he did to those prisoners…” She shuddered.

“Yes,” Jon said, voice quiet.

“I’ve never heard any such rumors about your father, the way he treats his people,” Daenerys said. “I never considered him to be any sort of threat to my own.”

“We have honor up North,” he said stiffly. “We don’t cause harm if it can be helped.”

“I know,” Daenerys said, smiling at him. “That’s why I left your lands alone.”

Jon smiled back, very slightly.

 

He was studying Valyrian in the library with Ursula, the tutor Jorah had provided, when Jorah poked his head in the room. “Oi, Snow,” he said. “You’re going to want to see this.”

Jon stood – then instinctively crouched low when an ear-splitting shriek filled the air, making the glassware on the table vibrate. “Dragons?” he breathed out.

“Dragons,” Jorah said, beckoning him.

He raced to the window and leaned out, head turned up to the sky. An enormous shadow passed by overhead, but he didn’t spot its owner.

“She’s let them go off hunting as a reward for their time fighting under her, but they return home from time to time to rest up,” Jorah said, resting his elbows on the windowsill and looking out. “There’s Drogon now.”

Jon had already stopped listening, spellbound at the sight.

It was even bigger than he’d imagined, jet black scales and red accents, incomprehensibly powerful, every inch of its frame lined with menace. Its bat-like wings eclipsed the sun when it passed overhead, stirring winds that swept the air like a blizzard.

It was, in a word, magnificent.

“That’s hers?” he said.

“They’re both hers. But yes, she’s bonded Drogon, so he’s the better behaved one,” Jorah said. “Rhaegal’s a wild thing. No one goes near him except Dany.” He frowned slightly.

“You think he’s too dangerous for even Daenerys to handle?” Jon said.

“He’s a force of nature,” Jorah said. “You can’t tame a storm. There –!” He pointed.

Rhaegal was smaller than Drogon, green as poison, and he moved like lightning in a bottle, all barely contained fury.

Jon couldn’t look away.

 

He walked slowly, hands raised upwards to show he wasn’t carrying a weapon, every nerve on hair-trigger alert.

Drogon noticed him first, picking up his head and eyeing him distrustfully. Then Rhaegal whipped his head around, tail lashing in the air, shifting in place to face him better.

He stopped.

Daenerys turned her head from Drogon, where she stood stroking his monstrous crest. “You’re brave,” she called. “Most people don’t get that close.”

“You wouldn’t let them eat me,” Jon said calmly, letting the wind carry his words to her. “It would be too inconvenient for you if my father found out anything happened to me under your supervision.”

He could see her smile all the way from there. “I know that. The dragons don’t.”

“They wouldn’t harm me if you commanded them not to,” Jon said more confidently than he actually felt. If even Jorah worried about leaving Dany with Rhaegal… But this was just another test, and he wasn’t going to fail it.

“Rhaegal might,” she said.

“Then I won’t get too close to Rhaegal,” he said.

Finally, she laughed. “Alright, then,” she said, a challenge in her voice. “Come see Drogon, if you’re so eager to get up close.”

Jon swallowed, but he couldn’t back down now. He approached slowly, steadily, eyes locked on Drogon but always aware of Rhaegal in his peripheral vision.

“Jon, Prince of Ice and Snow,” Daenerys said when he came close enough. “Meet Drogon. Fire made flesh, they say.”

The dragon was, somehow, _even_ bigger up close. His mind had done its best to downplay the size for his own comfort, but at this distance, there was no hiding the way he outflanked Jon a hundred times to one, how small Daenerys’ hand looked against his bulk. His teeth were the length of swords, and just as sharp. His red eyes were slit like a cat’s, and watched him with a little too much intelligence for his liking.

“The Seven,” he breathed out, when Drogon lowered his head and let him rest a hand on his leathery muzzle.

“He likes you,” Daenerys said. “It took Jorah ages to be able to touch him.”

Absurdly pleased by this, Jon ran his hand up his cheek, digging in his fingers like he would have scratched a dog’s hide, to which Drogon gave a huff that nearly knocked him off his feet and settled his head on the ground to provide him with easier access.

He smiled, proud and happy and awed by the gift he’d been given. Then he saw the look on Daenerys’ face, directed somewhere over his shoulder.

“Jon,” she said, lips bloodless with terror. “Whatever you do, do not make any sudden moves.”

Jon froze dead, only then becoming aware that the hot gusts of air weren’t just coming from Drogon in front of him.

Something nudged at the back of his neck.

“Turn slowly,” Daenerys whispered. “Keep your hands up.”

He turned like he was wading through molasses, concentrating hard to keep from moving too jerkily from the force of his nerves. Daenerys replaced his hand on Drogon with her own, mindlessly stroking him to keep him docile.

Behind him, Rhaegal loomed.

His eyes were glowing bronze, Jon saw from their proximity, and his lips had a peculiar way of curling over his black teeth like he was smiling. Not a nice smile, by any means. He pressed even closer, teeth brushing over Jon’s arm and shoulder, breath hot against his cheek.

Not daring to breathe, Jon lowered his hand inch by excruciating inch until it hovered in the air directly over Rhaegal’s cheek, right where he’d been stroking Drogon. He left it there for ten frozen, agonizing seconds.

Then Rhaegal moved his head to press it to Jon’s hand.

For one second, the world was condensed to that single point of contact.

Then, suddenly, Rhaegal wheeled around and took off in flight with such force that it knocked Jon backwards into Daenerys, who caught him around the waist to keep him from collapsing on shaking legs.

“Oh, the Seven,” she breathed.

Jon’s breath left him in a sudden gust, and his legs gave out after all, sending him to his knees.

 

Daenerys came to check on him herself that night, after enough hours that Jon had finally gotten himself to stop shivering with belated fright.

“Are you alright?” she said, looking at him with concern.

At least she wasn’t giving him that wary, nervous look that everyone else in the castle was. Even Jorah’s gaze had shifted from perpetual amusement to something like respect, which was worrying coming from a master of whisperers.

“I’m fine,” Jon said, setting aside his book. “Didn’t get eaten. Call that one a win.”

“Yes,” she said. “You see why most people don’t get that close.”

“Again,” he said. “I didn’t get eaten.”

“It’s true,” she said, eyeing him speculatively as if wondering why he hadn’t. He couldn’t blame her; he’d been wondering the same thing for hours.

“They’re beautiful,” Jon said. “That said, I think I’ll be keeping my distance for a while.”

Daenerys grinned. “Until the feeling comes back in your toes?”

“Or even longer,” Jon said, smirking back.

“Well, at the least, you’ve raised the esteem of Northroners within my castle,” she said. “We’re all very impressed at your bravery.”

Jon nodded. “I wouldn’t want to go against one of those things in battle, but – yes, I’ve faced a dragon and lived, it’s true.” He tried to keep his voice light, but he wasn’t sure it worked.

She saw something in his expression and took the seat next to him. “What is it?”

Jon sighed, not bothering to lie. “Those dragons… You have to see the threat you pose to my family,” he said.

“I already told you –” she said icily.

“I’m not sure that’s good enough,” he said. “Yes, let’s assume _you_ won’t turn on the North on a whim, but what about your children? What happens when one of them decides they don’t share your feelings on conquering eight kingdoms on the continent and leaving the ninth to its own devices?”

She pursed her lips.

“Madness runs in your blood, my Lady,” said Jon quietly. “You know this.”

“If one of my children goes mad like my father, then a usurper will come forward and strike them down, _like my father_ ,” she said, just as quietly. “I cannot predict the future and I know not what it holds, but the cruel and wicked get what they deserve.”

“It’s too much power for one person to hold,” Jon said. “Who could rebel against you, the forces of eight kingdoms, your dragons?”

“What would you have me do, then?” Daenerys said. “Hand the kingdoms back to their lords? Let corruption and abuse plague my people once more? These people need a strong leader to guide them to prosperity and good health. I am their queen.”

She wasn’t hearing what he was saying, and she wasn’t going to. “I suppose that will be my reassurance, then,” Jon said, swirling the wine in his glass. “If your children conquer the North, so be it. But their winter will come eventually. It always does.”

“Life always reaches a balance,” Daenerys said. “The dragons were thought to be extinct for centuries. Just because their reign has come back doesn’t mean it won’t see its end.”

“Yes,” Jon said, looking up into her eyes. “It will.”

 

Ursula left him with a list of verb conjugation exercises while she went off somewhere, so Jon thought he was quite alone in the library.

She moved as silently as Jorah did, so it was a surprise when she said right behind him, “Now that’s interesting,” and made him jolt so violently he bashed his knee in the table leg.

He quickly covered the piece of paper with his hand, but it was too late, and she whisked it out, gazing over it critically. “It’s a good likeness,” she admitted. “But her hair’s wavier than this. Why do you think she wears it braided so often?”

Jon grunted and ignored this, turning his page of exercises to her. “I’m finished.”

“It’s funny,” Ursula mused, glinting with wicked humor just the way Jorah always did. “Jorah said you vehemently denied any interest in our Queen, when he pressed you.”

“Do you have anything more for me, or can I go?” Jon said loudly.

Ursula slid the sketch of Daenerys back over to him. “And Dany seemed quite certain you were wroth with her when I spoke with her this morning.”

He stopped short. “Wroth about what?”

“About her ambitions and the threat they pose to your family, obviously,” Ursula said. “She was quite upset about it. I mean, you’re not wrong, but she took it quite personally.”

“I was never talking about her,” Jon bit out. “But the dynasty does not die with her.”

“She knows that, but she wants this throne so she’ll take it, whatever you say about it,” said Ursula, shrugging. “She’s upset, but she’s not going to change her ways.”

“Then she needs to get over it, because I’m not taking it back,” Jon said. “My family will never feel truly safe from her empire.”

“So?” Ursula said. “Empires rise and fall, kingdoms pass hands. Why do the Starks deserve to rule the North any more than she does, or her children do?”

Jon clenched his jaw. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Not really,” Ursula said. “She conquered my people too, you know. I’m from Meereen.”

Jon stopped, raising his eyebrows.

“To the smallfolk, all leaders are the same until they prove themselves to be different, in good and bad ways,” Ursula said. “And she earned my faith through action. I suppose I think more of individuals than the families they belong to.”

Jon ground his teeth, unable to come up with a response to that.

“You didn’t care that she was conquering kingdoms until you felt the threat at your door,” Ursula said. “If you don’t care about other kingdoms, why do you care about your own descendants, and whatever happens to them long after you’re dead? They’re all strangers to you.”

“It’s different,” Jon said.

“Only to you,” Ursula said. “She’s my Queen and I follow her. That’s all that matters.” She looked frankly at him. “Do you think Jorah would follow her if he didn’t believe in her? How do you think she amassed this army?”

“Again, it’s not about her,” Jon said.

“Only to you,” Ursula said again. “Now conjugate them all in the future tense as well as the past. And stop drawing my Queen while you’re supposed to be studying, unless you want me to show them to her.”

Jon grabbed the sketch and crushed it into a ball, scowling fiercely as he bent over the paper and returned to his conjugations.

He’d think more about what Ursula said at a later time.

 

He made his way to the practice yard the next day, feeling restless from too much time spent indoors. He was doing exercises in his room every day to keep fit, but it wasn’t the same.

Grey Worm and Sure Spear were his guards that day, and Sure Spear stepped up close when he got there, directing his attention around the yard. “The trained knights practice drills under the master of arms over there. The Stormcrows, her sellswords, train in a less organized manner over there.” His disapproval was audible in his voice.

“The Unsullied, her eunuch slave army, have our own encampment outside the castle,” Grey Worm added.

“ _Eunuch slave army_?” Jon said, curling his lip. “Does the Queen know that we do not allow slavery in Westeros?”

“Aye,” Sure Spear said. “We were given the choice to be free the day she bought us. Before we crossed the sea, she gathered her Unsullied forces and told us again that we were free to do as we chose. If we decided to come with her, she would pay us for our labors and treat us as she would a free man.”

“We cannot start families or know love,” Grey Worm said quietly. “Most chose to come with her. She’s the only mother we know. She gives us a purpose we have never known.”

“I see,” Jon said, considering this.

“And then, of course, her Dothraki forces,” Sure Spear said. “She left them camped on the mainland, in the great plains of the Reach. There’s not enough room for their horses to roam on Dragonstone.”

“And it’s a threat to keep her subjects docile,” Jon said distantly. “Hard to forget her terrible might when there’s 100,000 Dothraki breathing down your neck.”

Sure Spear and Grey Worm looked at him and said nothing.

“And they behave there?” Jon said. “I’ve heard of Dothraki ways, and the Queen seems opposed to most, if not all, of them. What keeps them from raping and pillaging here?”

“She left two of her trusted advisors, Strong Belwas and Ben Plumm, to watch over them and keep them in line,” Grey Worm said. “But they respect her authority and they heed her orders. Her Dothraki wouldn’t do anything to upset her. They know how strongly she feels about it.”

Jon frowned, putting this aside to consider later. “I’d like to see how the sellswords train,” he said slowly. “I’m sure they have plenty of tricks up their sleeves.”

“Aye,” Sure Spear said, and he and Grey Worm followed at Jon’s heels over to them.

 

They drew up to the leader of the company, lounging in the shade of a tree and chewing a stalk of grass. Like Jon had heard, the man was richly dressed, wearing jeweled swords and inlaid armor over fine silks. A full brace of gold rings adorned his arm, and his beard was dyed in two colors, which was… a look. He looked up with an expression of indulgent amusement – an expression that Jon had grown immune to, after knowing Jorah for this long.

“Daario, meet Prince Jon of Winterfell,” Sure Spear said formally from the side. “Prince Jon, Daario Naharis, captain-general of the Stormcrows.”

“Aye, and what of it?” Daario drawled. “Well met, young prince.”

“And yourself,” Jon said, looking him over. That gold must have weighed him down immensely; Jon didn’t figure it would take two minutes to best him in combat. “I’d thought to train with your company, but I’m now unsure I have anything to learn from them.”

Daario laughed uproariously, head tilted back. “See how quickly the wolf shows his fangs! If it’s a fight you want, a fight you’ll have, cub. Name the man, and we’ll see how he fares against your sword.”

Jon smiled, pleased. He would never earn their respect by staying meek and quiet. “You know your men better than I. You provide the man, and I’ll provide the sword.”

“Well said,” Daario said. “Marisa!”

A slim, pretty girl glanced over, then walked to them. “Yeah?”

Jon blinked. But, then, she wouldn’t be traveling with a sellsword company if they didn’t respect her sword arm, and he wasn’t going to underestimate a woman who could keep up with all these men.

“The Wolf Prince wants a spar, and I want to watch,” Daario said, grinning up at her. “Indulge us both, won’t you?”

She huffed, but looked at Jon. “You any less delicate than you look?”

“Are you?” Jon said, eyeing her up and down.

Her eyes narrowed. “Fine,” she said tightly, unsheathing her sword in one smooth motion. “I’ll give him his spar. But I won’t play nice just because the Queen’s taken you as a pet.”

Jon wordlessly unsheathed his sword as well, leading her into the open yard.

Immediately, the attention of the yard was on them, men ceasing their own training and forming a loose ring around them.

“20 stags on the Bride of the Stranger!” someone yelled from the crowd.

“Good luck finding someone to take that bet!” someone else called back, to general laughter.

“Anyone willing to put their money on the wolf boy?” someone asked.

There was a long moment of silence. Jon just rolled his shoulders and smirked.

“I’ve got 200 stags on the Northron Prince,” Jon heard overhead.

He looked up and saw Jorah sitting on a window ledge with one leg hanging out, sharpening a dagger and watching with amusement.

“Oh, shit,” someone said. “If Ser Jorah thinks – 20 stags on the wolf boy!”

“50 stags on the Bride!”

“30 for the prince!”

Jon did some stretches as he waited for this to die down.

Finally, Marisa turned and snapped to them, “Are you ever going to shut up and let me do this?”

“Aye, let’s get to it,” Daario said, now standing amongst the crowd, prior view blocked by the ring of watchers.

“Let’s,” Jon said, and lunged.

 

That night, there was a light rap on the door. Jon expected Missandei with one of her potions, but it was Daenerys herself, in a flowing silk robe with her white-gold hair streaming loose around her, a clay pot in her hands.

“Jorah thought you might have injured something from the way you were moving after the fight,” she said. “I brought Missandei’s healing ointment. It helps with bruises and cuts.”

“Just sore,” Jon muttered, standing aside and letting her in.

“You really shouldn’t be picking fights with swordsmen – or women – of unknown caliber under my care,” she said, eyes twinkling. “What would your father say if you got seriously injured?”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Jon said.

Daenerys laughed. “Perhaps,” she said. “I wish I could have seen it, though. Next time, make sure someone fetches me before you fight any of my elite warriors.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Jon said, wincing when she pushed him to a seat.

“Where are you hurt?” she said.

“She kicked me in the chest,” Jon said. “And slashed my arm.”

“Badly?” Daenerys said, genuinely concerned.

“No, it’s shallow,” Jon said.

“Alright, shirt off,” Daenerys said, moving to undo the ties of his shirt.

Jon didn’t stop her.

“After but a short time here, you’ve accomplished quite a lot,” she said, eyes on her hands. “You won the money and favor of some of my smallfolk playing cards, faced down my dragon and lived to tell the tale, won a bout against one of the finest sellswords in my company… My men really are growing impressed by you, Wolf Prince.”

“Good,” Jon said, clenching his jaw to keep from hissing when she carefully drew his shirt over his head.

“You’ve won my appreciation too,” she said, smearing some of the goo from the clay pot on her fingers and kneeling before him to spread it on his chest. “My men from across the sea have never respected Westeros and its people. They see Westerosi folk as inferior and weak, and consider themselves their betters. You’re showing them that you stand as their equal, and that will force them to reconsider their preconceptions.”

“Good,” Jon said, a little dazed at her proximity, the touch of her slender fingers on his bare skin, the sight of her kneeling before him.

“You’ve earned my favor today,” Daenerys said, voice even huskier than normal, if it wasn’t his imagination. “Tell me what rewards you would ask of me, and I may yet grant one.”

In a flash, Jon realized that Jorah was right, and she would take him to bed right now if he bid it of her.

For a moment, he let himself imagine it – having her strewn out under him like a living goddess, fairer than the Maiden herself and his to claim. The flush on her cheeks as he drove into her, the sounds she would make, the way she would arch into him and beg for more.

But he couldn’t. She was a foreign queen and the enemy of his family, and he couldn’t chance getting caught up in her web. Everything about her was temptation, but she was a dragon, and he knew that to touch her was to risk being burned.

“The Dothraki,” he blurted, startling her. “Send them back to Essos.”

The mood was shattered completely; Daenerys jerked back, expression furious. “Are you mad?” she said. “The Dothraki are my most loyal subjects and the bulk of my might.”

“The Dothraki are loyal to you, and only you,” he said, appreciating the distance even as he mourned the loss. “What happens if and when you die? Do you think they’ll stay passive forever?”

She pressed her lips together.

“You lived among them, you know their ways,” Jon said. “How many thousands of years having they been slaving and pillaging? Do you think one girl is going to completely rewrite a culture that has existed for longer than you could possibly comprehend?”

“They obey me,” said Daenerys coldly.

“They are not meant to be in Westeros and you know it,” Jon said. “Their place is across the sea, on their own plains, where they’ve spent the entirety of their existence. Send them back. Set them free. They were not meant to be cooped up here. Those people are meant for the Great Grass Sea.”

He had struck a nerve with that one, and her pale skin flushed red with a combination of emotions he couldn’t pretend to understand.

“You fought well today, Prince Jon,” she said, stepping back. “So the favor I grant you is mercy, when I would have any other man whipped for such insolence. But mind your tongue with me. I am not yours to command.”

Jon met her gaze, and did not flinch.

After a long moment, Daenerys gave a sound of derision, turned on her heel, and stormed from the room.

Jon flopped back on the bed and rubbed his hand over his face, feeling just as shaky as when he’d faced down Rhaegal, and just as lucky to have made it out with his life.

 

Daenerys was cold to him the next day, and the day after. Jon devoted himself to studying Valyrian, exercising in his own room, wandering the castle, reading in the library – nothing that would draw too much attention to himself. He’d had enough excitement for a few days.

But excitement found him all the same, in the form of a shadow that slipped through his window in the dead of night.

Jon sat up with a start, scrabbling for the dagger he kept sheathed under his pillow.

“It’s me,” whispered the dark figure, lighting a match and illuminating his face.

“Jory Cassel?” Jon said incredulously, amazed to see one of his father’s personal vassals here, of all places. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to take you back,” Jory said. “Your father’s orders.”

“I can’t go back – didn’t Rodrik tell him?” Jon said. “She’ll take it as an act of war.”

“Ah, only if she thinks you left intentionally,” Jory said. “We have a plan.”

Jon leaned forward a little.

“It’s already known that you have no fear of scaling Dragonstone’s cliffs,” Jory said. “Go out on a windy day and climb them. At a point we arrange in advance, slip off the cliff and onto a net we’ll have waiting. We’ll whisk you into one of the caves along the cliffside and smuggle you onto a merchant ship with them none the wiser. They’ll assume you hit your head on the rocks on the way down and drowned.”

“You want to stage my death,” Jon said slowly.

“This way we avoid war and retrieve you – a win-win scenario,” Jory said. “There’s no downside.”

Jon rested his chin on his knees and thought about this for a long time. Then he sighed. “Jory…”

“Prince, you have nothing to fear,” Jory said. “We’ll arrange it flawlessly.”

“It’s not that,” Jon said. “But if my father truly means to avoid war, then he intends to forge a lasting peace with the Dragon Queen. My presence here is helping with that. If I vanished – even if she didn’t blame the North for it – it would negate all the goodwill I’ve built here.”

“Then you’ll stay indefinitely as her prisoner?” said Jory incredulously. “You know she set us on an impossible task. We’ll never find that sword, and you’ll rot here in this dismal pit forever.”

“If that’s the price of peace, so be it,” Jon said. “The Queen is not an unreasonable woman. She’ll see in time that my family can be trusted, and she’ll release me. But if we want fair treatment from her, we have to treat with her fairly in exchange. No tricks.”

“If you’re certain,” Jory said. “And this the message you want me to pass along to his Grace?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “Tell him that trust is earned. I stay with the Dragon Queen.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah sorry this took ages, largely because i got lazy and complacent about how far away the show premiere was. then it became april and i realized i need to update this bitch fast if i want to beat season 8 to it.
> 
> not that anyone cares enough to pay attention, but i couldn’t enable GRRM’s ridiculous years-long season bullshit. he knows nothing of agriculture. Literally everyone in the north would die every single winter, GRRM, you clueless fuck. cyclical, four season years here, folks.

Daenerys sent for him in the morning.

He cloaked himself in his wolf furs when he found out she expected him outside. Dragonstone’s air grew chillier by the day, but it was the wetness that really killed.

He was taken to a garden he’d never found in his wanderings, reached by going down after the arch of the Dragon’s Tail. Within grew tall dark trees and towering thorny hedges, thick plants with branches hanging heavy with ripe cranberries, wild white and red roses that bloomed on dark spidery vines.

“Is this another private space you had built to escape Dragonstone?” Jon asked, approaching her where she stood fingering the petals of a white rose.

“No,” she said, “at least one of my ancestors must have had an appreciation for beauty.”

“Yes,” Jon said, watching her openly while she was turned away, with no one there to see.

She was perfection in mortal form, and he could not deny that he wanted her.

“Jorah advised me to say nothing, but I felt like I couldn’t,” Daenerys said, turning to him finally, expression frank. “Did you know that he has eyes and ears in your room when you turned down that man’s offer to take you home?”

Jon recoiled back, surprised.

“Either you’re a fantastic liar, or you truly didn’t,” she said. “I’m inclined to believe the latter, knowing what I do about Northron honor.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing what I do about _Southron_ honor,” Jon said, annoyed at this revelation, feeling suddenly naked, exposed.

“That’s fair,” she said after a moment. “I suppose I deserved that.”

Jon crossed his arms.

“But you didn’t take it,” she said softly. “Even though he would have taken you home, away from this… prison.”

“More crimes would be committed tenfold if my time here were an accurate reflection of prison life,” Jon said, and Daenerys laughed.

“I don’t disagree,” she said. “I was quoting his words.”

“My father is concerned to see me as a hostage,” Jon said. “He doesn’t know the truth of your treatment, and he’s inclined to suspect the worst. I know, so I stayed.”

“You stayed for the sake of building trust,” Daenerys said, looking up at him, those purple eyes big and dark enough to drown in. “I don’t know if I trust your father, but I trust _you_ , Prince of the North.”

“Jon,” he said. “You can call me Jon, after all this time.”

“Then you can call me Dany,” she said. “My friends do.”

“Alright,” he said after a pause. “Dany.”

She smiled. “I trust you, and your father evidently heeds your council, so I have great hope for the friendship our kingdoms can have. Do you?”

“I do,” Jon said. He wanted to say that he trusted her, but he couldn’t. He trusted her intentions, certainly, but not always the way she carried them out, and that mattered. But when it came to a truce between their countries? Yes, he believed her on that.

“You are a man of numerous admirable qualities,” she said, smoothing down her own furs. “I’ve come to admire you greatly.”

“…Thank you,” Jon said, abruptly nervous as to where this was going.

“But while honesty is high among them, I’m not sure about… sincerity,” she said. “I am often confused by you, and unable to gauge what you mean by the things you say and do.”

“We’re a reticent people,” he said.

“I see that,” Dany said. “I never learned to be good at hiding my true feelings. I suppose I’m more of a demanding sort. I take what I want.”

Jon hummed in passive agreement, mouth suddenly dry.

“So I’m going to ask you directly, appealing to your honesty if I can’t draw out your sincerity,” she said, and bit her lip as she looked him directly in the eye, a dual gut-punch that knocked him off-kilter. “Am I making a fool of myself here?”

He could have played dumb, but that wasn’t Jon’s way. “I’m… betrothed,” he said reluctantly. “And you know about Northron honor.”

“Betrothed?” she said, shocked. “To whom?”

“Princess Arianne, of Dorne,” Jon said. “We’re due to be wed when I turn ten-and-eight.”

“Her father never said anything about that when we met,” Dany said. “So that’s why you don’t want…? Northron honor?”

“You and I – I would not lay hands on a woman I did not mean to wed,” Jon said. “The marriage act is sacred, meant to be shared between a man and his wife. We take our vows seriously in Winterfell.”

“I see,” she said carefully. “Well, I was not raised in Winterfell, and honor across the sea is quite different. I take men into my bed whom I respect and desire, and we share time together in mutual pleasure. Nothing is _taken_ from me. My honor is my own to defend, and who I share myself with is mine own decision as well.”

Jon pressed his lips together. “We do not see it that way in the North,” he said.

“I know that,” she said. “It seems to me like you don’t respect women in the North at all, but I know you see it differently.”

Jon recoiled.

“To respect women is to treat them as equals, not property,” she said. “But I do not seek to force you into anything that goes against your principles, my Prince.”

Jon cleared his throat. “If I…”

“If you should ever desire it, my door is open to you,” she said, calm and clear. “I do not expect marriage pacts out of it, I would not ask you to make any promises to me, and I would not allow a child to come from the union. This would be for the sake of mutual pleasure and nothing more. The choice is yours to make.”

“I see,” Jon said.

Dany nodded stiffly. “You can go, if you’d like,” she said. “I know this conversation was… less than comfortable for you.”

He nodded, but lingered back. “A favor, if I might ask it.”

“Ask, and see,” Dany said.

“Remove your spies from my chambers,” Jon said. “I mean no harm, but I value my privacy.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “And you’ve earned it,” she said. “Trust only works in both directions. I’ll instruct Jorah to withdraw.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, inclining his head, then making his way out of the garden, head spinning with what she’d said.

 

The next day provided him with a distraction in the form of a galley from Essos, carrying silks and delicacies and fine wine. And with it, Rayna, a dancer from Lys.

She was lovely – the second most beautiful woman Jon had ever seen, though the gulf between her and Dany was not insignificant – and sweet and her laugh rang through the halls like the bells on her wrists and ankles, and she made Dany smile so bright Jon could scarcely bear to look upon her.

“Jon, come meet Rayna, my friend from across the sea,” Dany said, beckoning him over when they chanced upon each other in the hall.

“I’ve seen you at a distance,” Jon said.

“And I you,” Rayna said in her smoky, accented voice. “It’s very nice to finally meet the Wolf Prince I’ve heard so much about.”

Jon looked at Dany.

“She’s Daario’s beloved,” Dany said. “I told you, my men are quite taken with you.”

“I can see why,” Rayna said admiringly.

“Oh, don’t,” Dany said, making a face.

“ _Like you aren’t smitten yourself_ ,” Rayna said, switching into Valyrian, unaware that Jon had become quite fluent himself.

“ _I don’t want to talk about it_ ,” Dany replied.

“ _Sounds like there’s a story here_ ,” said Rayna shrewdly.

“ _I tried, and he wasn’t interested,”_ Dany said. “ _That’s it_.”

Rayna looked like she wanted to push, but subsided out of respect for Dany’s feelings. “ _Seven, how long has it been, then? Not since…”_

_“Hizdahr,_ ” Dany supplied. “ _In Meereen_.”

“ _That long?”_ Rayna said. “ _I’d die_. _It’s been but a few months without Daario and I’m already crossing the sea to… see him.”_

Dany laughed. _“You know I don’t fall into bed with just anyone. It has to be the right person. I thought I’d found him, but apparently I’m wrong_.” She switched abruptly back to Common. “But we’re being rude. Jon, you’ll dine with us later, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Jon said, bowing his head.

“I’ll have plenty to ask you, so don’t be shy,” Rayna said, fluttering her fingers, then they vanished, their ubiquitous guards trailing behind them.

Jon palmed the hilt of his sword and thought.

 

He was still distracted during his match with cyvasse with Jorah, making him worse than usual at the strategy. He’d become better at the game, though he still only won one match to every three that Jorah did, but this day wouldn’t count among his victories, he could already tell.

“Something on your mind, Prince?” Jorah eventually asked.

Jon glanced up at him and asked before he could think better of it, “Did you and Dany ever…?”

Jorah’s eyebrows shot up and he rocked back in his chair, nearly tipping over backwards.

“Never mind,” Jon muttered, mindlessly moving his trebuchet piece. “Forget it.”

“No, it’s a fair question,” Jorah said. “I’m surprised you never asked before, actually.”

Jon scowled.

“We never did,” Jorah said. “But I will be honest, I wanted to. Sometimes I thought, maybe, but…”

“What happened?” Jon asked.

“You mean, why did I start wanting it, or why did I stop?” Jorah asked.

“Both.”

“How does any unrequited romance start?” Jorah said, taking up his goblet of wine and swirling it around without drinking any. “I was working for her, helping her consolidate power. We spent long nights together in council. I found myself wanting more.”

Jon picked up the elephant piece Jorah had already conquered and turned it in his fingers.

“She’s… naïve, but hardly innocent,” Jorah said. “You don’t become the Queen she is without getting your hands dirty. She was so sure of herself, such a force of nature. She’s as wild as her dragons, you know. You’re never going to tame this woman.”

“ _I’m –?_ ” Jon started.

“Not you in particular, I mean no man could,” Jorah said. “I wanted her, but she evidently didn't feel the same. Just watching her, though, you can just tell... You can’t imagine what it’s like to have her as your own, how honored you feel to have been chosen. She’s… she’s something.”

“Then why did you stop feeling that way?” Jon said.

“It got… complicated, and I’ll say no more of it than that,” Jorah said. “We separated for a time, and by the time I met her in Meereen, it was clear that nothing would ever happen between us.”

“By her choice or yours?” Jon asked.

“Hers,” Jorah said. “She had grown so much in our time apart, had endured so much. She wasn’t the same girl I’d left behind. She’d moved on.”

“To Hizdahr?” Jon said.

Jorah looked surprised. “You know about Hizdahr?” He waved his hand. “But no, Hizdahr came after. Just… from me.”

“And you’re still content to work for her?” Jon said. “Even after she broke your heart?”

Jorah laughed. “She didn’t break my heart,” he said. “I never had the right to expect anything of her, and I never let myself forget that. But yes, I will follow her always. She’s forever my Queen even if she'll never be my lover.”

“You could just… do that?” Jon said.

“I have loved her, but somehow it was possible for me to keep myself at a distance when I knew there was no future between us,” Jorah said. “I will always love her as my Queen, but not as anything more.”

“I see,” Jon said slowly, thinking about this.

Every day he spent there gave him more to think about, he’d found.

 

Even autumn in Dragonstone occasionally offered up some warm, pleasant days. Jon took advantage of one of those days by taking his guards outside and dozing off in the sun-lit grass, letting it bathe him into a lull of utter contentment. Even the ever-present buzz of his tangled thoughts went quiet.

Then, “ _Prince Jon_ ,” he heard in a hiss from a distance.

He picked up his head, then froze at the sight that met his eyes.

The dragons had returned from their hunt.

Drogon was still wheeling in the air overhead, but Rhaegal had landed between Jon and the castle. He was curled up as if in sleep, but his eyes were open and Jon knew they were focused on him.

He slowly levered himself to a seat, hands raised in supplication.

Rhaegal’s head shifted slightly, but other than that he didn’t move, eyes still trained on Jon.

Jon sat as still as a statue. A crick developed in his neck from the awkward position, but still he did not move. Nerves made his stomach clench and sweat gather on his neck, and still he did not move.

Gradually, Rhaegal’s eyes slipped shut and his breathing evened out.

Jon gave it another few minutes to make sure, and then he painstakingly rolled to his feet, as slowly as he could.

Rhaegal slept on.

The only way back to the castle was past him, and Jon gave him as wide a berth as he dared, edging along the cliff face, constantly weighing the danger behind him with the danger in front. At the nearest point to the sleeping dragon, he held his breath, willing his heart to stop beating so loud in his chest. Finally he’d moved past him.

Then, at no cue he could tell, Rhaegal snapped awake, spinning his head around and pinning Jon in place with a look.

Jon froze dead where he stood.

Rhaegal lumbered to his feet and crossed the slim distance between them, turning Jon’s knees to jelly with visions of being torn apart by those dagger-sharp fangs. Or maybe the dragon wouldn’t even have to rip him to pieces. He might just swallow him whole instead.

“Your Queen knows I mean her no harm, and she wishes no harm to come to me,” he said. “I come here as a friend. Don’t force my father to become your enemy.”

He didn’t say it with the expectation of being understood, but just to speak soft and low, like he might soothe a spooked destrier. But his voice shook and he knew the dragon could sense his fear, smell its spice in the air, so maybe that plan was doomed from the start.

Rhaegal stopped a short distance from him, head weaving on his long neck like a snake. Then he pressed even closer, nudging his muzzle against Jon’s chest just like he had before.

“Fuck me,” Jon said, and again he slowly moved his hand to Rhaegal’s cheek, making sure Rhaegal saw him doing it, that huge bronze eye trained on his outstretched arm.

He didn’t breathe again until he’d rested his hand on Rhaegal for a full ten seconds without being devoured or engulfed in flame. Little victories.

Slowly, as he had for Drogon, he curled his fingers and scratched them over Rhaegal’s cheek, digging in hard so Rhaegal could feel it through his thick leathery hide. Rhaegal gave a rumbling sound, almost like a _purr_ , tilting his head up in appreciation.

On impulse, Jon moved his other hand below Rhaegal’s chin, scratching there as he would a cat.

Rhaegal flinched back in surprise, which made Jon nearly soil himself, then the great dragon lowered his head back in place as if prompting Jon to continue. Hardly daring to do so, but completely unwilling not to, Jon scratched him with both hands, stunned when the dragon’s eyes slipped closed in obvious contentment.

“By the old ones,” he murmured, staring down at the hands he could scarcely believe were his own, so pale and slender against that moss-green hide.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, stroking Rhaegal’s face, when he heard rushing footsteps behind him and Dany’s voice, sharp with concern, “Are you safe?”

“I think so,” Jon said calmly, relieved when Rhaegal’s eyes stayed closed. “He seems relaxed enough.”

“He does,” Dany murmured. “Tell me, Prince, are you brave or suicidal?”

“Do you think I got myself into this situation by choice?” Jon said.

Dany chuckled. “I wonder,” she said. “Well, if you’d like, I could take over while you escape to safety.”

“No, I think I’ll stay here for a time,” Jon said. “It’s not often you get a chance to admire a dragon up close.”

“True,” Dany said. “It’s a privilege granted to a select few. You should feel proud to be among them.”

“I do,” Jon said, and he didn’t know if she meant it as an entendre, but he took it that way.

 

“Ursula,” Jon said.

She looked up.

“What did Dany actually _do_ in Meereen to earn your faith?” He fidgeted, ashamed for not asking before. Had it not seemed important? How short-sighted.

“It’s a complicated question,” Ursula said, shooting him a thoughtful look. “How much do you know about the Meereenese economy? Our history, the foundation of our society, our ruling class?”

“Not much,” Jon admitted. “It’s a slaver city, I know.”

“It was,” she corrected. “The Queen did away with that.”

Jon leaned his elbows on the table, watching her expectantly.

“Against all reason, the Queen banned slavery and abolished the fighting pits. She made herself enormously unpopular among the noble class whose approval she dearly needed, but she never faltered in her mission,” Ursula said. “She made powerful enemies for the sake of justice. I want you to know that.”

“I do know,” Jon said.

“Do you? Do you know about the Sons of the Harpy? The Yunkish coalition? Do you know why she stayed in Meereen for so long instead of coming to claim her rightful throne?”

Jon squirmed in his seat. “I know something,” he said.

“Less than you realize,” Ursula said critically. “Ask Jorah if you want the full story. Leave yourself a few hours to hear it – the tale is not short. Start at the beginning, if you truly want to know. Our Khaleesi is a woman of humble origins, for all the heights she has climbed.”

“I will,” Jon said. “I’ll listen better now.”

“See that you do,” Ursula said.

 

She did not lie, it was a long story.

By the end of it, Jon felt the last of his resolution dissipate like smoke.

 

Late that night, he exited his chambers after tossing and turning for a few hours of tortured unrest. Ereck and Glen immediately snapped to attention outside his door.

“I don’t… require your assistance,” Jon said.

“Ah,” Ereck said, exchanging a look with Glen. “We’re obliged to follow you to your destination, wherever that may be, Prince Jon.”

“Great,” Jon said, rubbing a hand over his face. “And there’s nothing I can say to convince you otherwise?”

They shook their heads.

Jon tried not to blush as he led them through the castle, but he knew they all knew where they were headed, and it made it difficult to stay composed. When they reached Dany’s solar, the two guards outside her door straightened up as well.

“Ah,” said one of them. “The Queen informed us that she… might be requiring your council some nights.”

“Yes,” said the other one. “Please proceed.”

Jon bent his head and rushed inside, relieved when the door shut definitely behind him.

Unsurprisingly, he found the main room empty, but when he cracked open the door to the bedroom that had always been shut to him, he found her stirring in her bed.

“Jon?” she said, sitting up with a start when she saw him.

He didn’t leave the doorway. “How much do you trust your guards’ discretion?” he said. “Excuses by way of the difference between Northron and Eastron honor can only carry me so far.”

She smiled, but it was measured. “I trust them with your life and with your secrets,” she said. “But if you think rumors haven’t already spread about the time you’ve spent in my company…”

Jon swallowed. “Well, if rumors already spread without me sharing your bed, I don’t see how it does any harm to make it a reality,” he said. “People will believe what they want to believe.”

Dany’s smile grew, and it was beautiful as a sunrise. “Yes,” she said. “That’s true.”

“Still, it’s truly unnerving to be escorted here by a guard,” Jon said, coming in and making a face. He slipped off his shoes and padded towards her. “I feel like a boy being delivered to his first lesson with his master at arms.”

“Is that what you think of me as?” she said, laughing. “Your instructor?”

He shrugged. “You have much to teach, and I have much to learn,” he said.

“True,” she said, and moved to undo the ties of his shirt. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time.”

“As have I,” he admitted, because there was no point in lying anymore, not to her or to himself.

She flashed that smile at him, warm and sweet. “I’m glad,” she said, and dragged him down to kiss him until his thoughts scattered completely, leaving him utterly pliant in her hands.

He didn’t know if it was always like this or if it was just her, but he was drunk on her touch in seconds. Maybe it was just the effect of having her skin against his hands, her curves overflowing them just the way he thought they would.

“Oh,” she sighed, arching her neck up as he kissed down it. “And you’ve never…?”

“No,” Jon said. But his body knew what it wanted from her, moving on instinct.

He swirled his tongue around her nipple, enjoying the way it pebbled at his touch. She shivered, touching his hair, his shoulders, his neck. “Jon,” she murmured.

“Tell me what you need,” he said, lips to her skin.

She pushed his hand down between her legs, lifting her hips in a wordless plea for his touch.

“Alright,” Jon said, and he knew this from dirty comments in smoky taverns and whispered conversations among the boys in Winterfell. He licked his thumb to slick it and swiped it up her cleft, pleased to find she was already wet for him.

She cried out aloud and tipped her head back, hips bucking up. “Oh!”

He rubbed at her in small circles, feeling the way she coiled tighter and tighter for it, rocking up into him, her whole body opening up. Dany clutched at his shoulders and keened wordlessly for him.

In that moment, he felt like the most powerful man in the world.

 

He arrived in the library for his Valyrian lessons with Ursula the next day and found Jorah bent over Missandei, who sat in a chair reading painstakingly aloud from a primer. She traced under the words she was reading with her finger, and her feet didn’t touch the ground, which Jon found painfully endearing.

Jorah glanced up at him with such excessive smugness that Jon nearly turned around and walked back out.

“Hold, Prince, I’ll be good,” Jorah said, laughing.

“You’d better,” Jon muttered, and smiled at Missandei. “Are you attending your lessons the same as I am?”

“Jorah says I would be more useful to her Grace if I learned to read as well as I speak,” Missandei said. “I can’t help him translate his missives from Essos if I can’t understand them.”

“The fact that you can speak so many languages is already incredible to me, I’m struggling to add even a second,” Jon said. “Compared to that, learning to read should be easy.”

“I don’t like silent letters,” she said with a pained expression, and Jon laughed.

“I can’t blame you for that,” he said. “I don’t mean to interrupt, please continue.”

She nodded and kept up her reading.

Since Ursula hadn’t arrived yet, Jon wandered around the library. He stopped in front of the large map by the window, leaning on his elbows on the podium and looking down at it with a frown, tracing the line between Dragonstone and Winterfell with his finger.

“They don’t like you touching the parchment,” Jorah said from behind him. “Oils.”

Accustomed to this, Jon didn’t flinch. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

“Copper for your thoughts,” Jorah said, coming around in front and looking down at the map from the other side.

“I understand why she doesn’t want to rule from King’s Landing, but she can’t stay here forever,” Jon said. “Not if she means to be an accessible queen who connects with her people – that’s not possible from Dragonstone.”

“Do you think she should take up the Iron Throne, then?” Jorah said. “Move to King’s Landing after all?”

Jon hesitated. “There is something cursed about that throne,” he admitted. “Perhaps…”

“Yes?”

“I know little about the logistical implications of such a task, but I suppose I would have her level the Red Keep and rebuild,” Jon said. “If she wants to make a statement about starting a new dynasty, that accomplishes it without having to rule from… here.” He waved around with open distaste.

“Building a castle takes time and money,” Jorah pointed out.

“Time and money do not seem to be her limiting factors,” Jon said. “It would provide income and opportunity for the smallfolk, give them hope for new industry in a city flailing from upheaval.” He shrugged. “I suppose I don’t see Dragonstone as a sustainable base in the long term. I know not if King’s Landing is that base, but there has to be a better option.”

Jorah watched him with a queer expression.

“What?” Jon said defensively. “I never claimed to have drawn up a detailed ten-point strategy.”

“No,” Jorah said, with a soft little laugh. “I’m sure she would appreciate your council.”

“Then what’s with the face?” Jon said, wrinkling his nose.

“You always give her council even at no benefit to yourself or the standing of your house,” Jorah said. “You assume her success in the long term and you seek to help her improve upon it. It’s interesting behavior from someone who would appear on paper to be little more than a political pawn in a game much bigger than himself.”

Jon flushed, feeling strangely exposed. “I’m never saying anything that you or she doesn’t already know,” he muttered.

“She doesn’t think the way you do, you know this,” Jorah said.

Yes, Jon knew it. Daenerys thought in terms of birthrights and ideals. Her convictions had brought her far and she wouldn’t be the queen she was without them, but they weren’t always practical. She needed someone at her side who would think on a smaller scale, keep her grounded.

“I should go,” he said, not wanting to follow that dangerous line of thought. “I see Ursula here.”

Jorah nodded him off with that same considering expression, but all he said was, “Perhaps you could help Missandei with her written Common, if you have the time. She would like that.”

“I will,” Jon said, sliding into his seat to begin his lessons.

 

Jon had started his time in Dragonstone taking his meals at the end of the long table on the dais, but gradually his seat had migrated central and no one mentioned it. So he was easily within earshot when a messenger came during the evening meal, wearing the alien garb of the Dothraki tribesmen.

He knelt before Dany, awaiting her cue to rise, then came around the table and crouched between her and Jorah.

“ _Speak_ ,” Dany said in Dothraki, to which Jon inwardly grimaced. His Dothraki was coming along slowly, but he was much more fluent in Valyrian. Unfortunate.

The man spoke at some length, and Jon struggled to piece together the fragments he understood. Something about a fight? A battle? No, a raid – twelve dead, and the women taken captive.

Jon worked to keep his face expressionless, mindlessly chewing on food that had lost its flavor in his mouth.

When he glanced up, Dany was staring at him, her lips pressed tightly together.

“What is it?” Jon said.

“Nothing that’s any concern of yours,” she said, and turned back to the man, speaking fierce and low, far too quickly for Jon to keep up. The only words he caught were _dogs_ and _women_ and _dragonfire_.

Once the man had been excused, she turned to Jorah and said in Valyrian _, “I will fly to my khalasar tomorrow and remind them what befalls those who anger me. They’ve grown arrogant in my absence.”_

Jorah nodded. _“More regular visits may be necessary_ ,” he said.

Dany stood. “Pardon me,” she told the table. “I will be leaving for a short trip tomorrow, so I’ll excuse myself to make preparations.”

“Where are you going?” Missandei asked from Jon’s other side.

“A routine visit to my khalasar,” Dany said with a fake smile. “Nothing that requires your services.”

Jon stabbed at his potatoes with his fork.

 

His eyelids drooped heavily and he felt himself getting dragged down to sleep, but he fought to stay awake, aware of Dany’s tension against him. She clearly had something on her mind, and he wasn’t falling asleep until she did.

His efforts were rewarded when she shifted in his arms, and he snapped awake at once, hand flexing over her bare hip. Still he waited for her to speak.

“What would –” she started.

He splayed out his hand and rubbed gentle circles with his thumb, waiting.

“What would you have me do with my Dothraki?” she said.

Jon ran his tongue over his teeth. So she was bringing it up after all. Some part of him didn’t want to discuss it, wary of upsetting her again and wanting to avoid it.

“You know what I would have you do,” he said lowly.

She sat up, impatiently brushing back her loose hair and staring down at him in accusation. “No, don’t be flippant. I mean it, seriously. What would you have me do? The dragons might be my sword arm, but my Dothraki are the strength in my knees and spine that keep me standing tall and strong. I am nothing without them.”

“You have other forces,” Jon said.

“The Unsullied and Stormcrows alone are not enough to hold my kingdoms in line,” she said. “Your family is not a threat, fine. But if mine own recently conquered territories see me send the bulk of my fighting forces back to Essos, what keeps them from open rebellion?”

“If the love of your people will not keep them loyal to you, then have you really won?” Jon said, sitting up.

She scoffed.

“I’m serious,” he said. “You came in and shed as little blood as possible. You left their original lords in place as much as you could, save when it was unavoidable. The only laws you’ve passed have been in order to protect them. Why should anyone wish to rebel?”

“That’s a very nice thought, but I need to plan for all contingencies,” she said.

Jon shrugged. “Somehow every other Targaryen ruled Westeros without the Dothraki. What makes you any less capable?”

“I…” she said.

“Jorah has his spies in every court, I’m sure,” Jon said. “You’ll know stirrings of rebellion long before they start, no matter how much they try to hide it. No one can mask the preparations for war that effectively. You’ll have time to prepare your own forces.”

Dany chewed her lip.

“Worst-case scenario, you can always call your Dothraki back, it only takes – what, a fortnight? – to cross the narrow sea. A full siege of Dragonstone by a massive army couldn’t possibly take less than two months, especially with your dragons on hand,” Jon said.

He stroked his hand down her silken sheet of hair. “But you could only be outnumbered by the unified forces of all of your kingdoms rising up together to defy you. I _really_ don’t see that happening. You know you have their support.”

“Do I?” she said.

“Do you think Jorah is lying when he tells you thus?” he said, laughing. “You are a good Queen, why is it so hard to believe your people see it? You know that Dorne and the Reach have always been loyal to your family – they never truly followed the usurper king. If the biggest threat to you is the Stormlands… You could crush them with your dragons alone, you know that.”

“Yes,” she said, finally thawing. “That’s true.”

“Send them back to Essos,” Jon said. “This is not their home.”

“It is not up to you to decide where the home of _my_ khalasar is, Jon Snow,” she said frostily.

Jon winced.

She raised a hand. “But I hear what you say, and I will call together my khals and pose the question to _them_ about how they would choose to proceed. If they wish to stay in Westeros, knowing that it means following my decrees, then they may. If they wish to return to Essos, then they may. Your input on this matter is no longer permissible.”

“But you do trust that you can rule Westeros without their might?” Jon said.

“Unless something drastic happens to convince me otherwise,” Dany said, looking meaningfully at him.

She meant his father, and whether he called his banners for war. “And nothing will,” Jon swore.

“Good,” she said.

 

Dragonstone was a hell-pit, but Jon had come around to it in many ways. There was a certain beauty to its architecture, even with all the excessive dragon sculptures. The gleam when the sunlight hit it just right, the breathtaking glory of the castle set against the jagged cliffs…

Still, when you were looking for a present for your half-sister’s 14th birthday, it left something to be desired.

The castle held taverns, a forge, vaults, a rookery, but none of these felt like the right place to acquire a gift for Arya. Besides, after he’d decided to send something to Arya, it seemed cruel not to include presents for all of his siblings, since the package was already headed by boat to White Harbor.

So the arrival of a merchant ship from the Free Cities made him nearly shout with relief, eagerly dragging Ereck and Glen to the docks to where they spread out their wares on blankets.

For Sansa, he bought face-paints from Lys. Rickon got a little carved porcelain figure that slashed with a sword when you pulled the cord on his back. He thought Robb would like the staff he found that sprouted sharp blades along its length when you twisted the handle just right, just as a fun curiosity.

Bran was a little trickier, for what did the boy love half so much as climbing? In the end, Jon found a cunning device called a kite made of cloth and string and ribbons that was made to catch the air in controlled flight. It seemed fitting for a boy whose mind never stayed tethered to the ground.

But Arya was the hardest yet. He knew what she _would_ have wanted – he lingered for a long time by the swords of all different metals and designs – but Catelyn and Ned had been quite firm on that front, and Jon doubted that had changed since he had left.

Thinking of Arya brought up a pang of homesickness that he’d successfully repressed for so long, and Jon sighed, head turning without thought to the north. He wondered if it was snowing yet in Winterfell.

Glen cleared his throat, reading his expression. “This present is for your sister?”

“Yes,” Jon said, grateful for the distraction. “My younger sister.”

“What’s she like?” Ereck asked.

“She’s a spitfire,” Jon said, laughing as he thought of Arya. “Very stubborn, very proud, very smart. She begs my father often to let her learn to fight, but that’s not the way of things in the North.”

“So fine dresses and hair baubles wouldn’t be the right gift for her,” Ereck said.

“No, definitely not,” Jon said. “She’d hate that.”

“Perhaps…” Glen glanced around, then gestured for Jon to follow him. “I know that Tyroshi noblewomen carry them, I wonder if – Ah, here.” He stopped at a stall and picked up a fan, offering it to Jon.

Jon unfurled it and furrowed his brow, wondering what about this delicate and lady-like accessory was supposed to appeal to Arya. He examined it from every angle, trying to piece together Glen’s intention. “I don’t…”

Glen reached over and dug his fingernail into a barely noticeable catch in the wood, opening a compartment that contained a bundle of long, deadly-sharp needles.

“They poison them in Tyrosh, although I might not suggest that to an impressionable girl of 14,” Glen commented.

“It’s perfect,” Jon said, pleased. He was even more delighted at the prospect of giving the gift to Arya without revealing its secrets and letting her stew and grumble until she finally figured it out.

“Perhaps wrapped in a rabbit-fur scarf?” Ereck suggested. “I know it’s cold in the North, and the rabbits they breed in Tyrosh have softer fur than you have ever felt.”

Jon rubbed a scarf between his fingers and smiled. “Yes,” he said. To the vendor, “ _How much_?”

He proceeded to make Ereck and Glen wince when he paid the amount without haggling, ignoring the lessons they’d been trying to give him for the better part of an hour, but he didn’t care.

For Arya, he would gladly spend the coin.

 

Dany was more excited by the ship that came from Dorne a few days later. She bounced on her heels when they delivered her the gift box from House Martell, more adorable than a blooded queen had any right to be.

“What is it?” Jon said, smiling fondly at her.

“Fruit,” she said. “More than anything else of Essos, I miss the fruit.” She sighed, pulling out a series of objects Jon had never seen. Fruits, apparently.

He poked dubiously at one. “You eat this?” he said. “This fuzzy brown thing?”

“You eat the inside,” she said, laughing. “It tastes like – oh, I can’t describe it. You’ll have to try it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of any of it,” Jon said, raising his hands. “You’d probably bite my hand off if I tried.”

“We can share,” she said. “And you have to promise me that you won’t let me eat it all in one sitting.”

“I really don’t see that ending well for me,” Jon said. “Again, my hands. I like them where they are.”

Dany swatted at him. “Which one shall we sample now?” she said, mostly to herself. “Do I save the best for last, or…?” She picked up a round fruit with a deep-red skin that looked almost like an old, dried-up apple.

“What is that?” Jon said.

“Well, that settles it,” Dany said, producing a dagger from some hidden pocket of her dress and neatly slicing the top off the fruit, then carving lines down the skin to split it into sections. She peeled out one section, showing him the contents – clusters of small red fruits that gleamed like translucent jewels. “Pomegranate.”

“And you eat those?” Jon said, staring.

“Yes, the seeds,” Dany said. She loosened the seeds with her fingertips so a number of them spilled out into her palm, juice staining her fingertips red, stark against her white skin. She offered her hand to Jon.

Jon caught her wrist and lifted it to his mouth, closing his lips around her fingertips and tasting the juice off them. Dany’s breath caught.

The taste was like nothing he’d tasted, bright and tart and sweet and tangy. He lowered his head and ate the seeds right from her hand, more of that intense flavor bursting out over his tongue.

“Do you like it?” Dany said, slightly breathy.

Jon didn’t bother answering, trusting that she could tell by the way he licked every drop of the juice from her palm.

 

Jon was in the solar teaching Missandei to play chess when Dany swept in with Jorah.

“My khalasar has replied,” Dany said casually.

Jon’s head snapped up.

“As I requested, those that wish to stay will stay, those that wish to go will go,” Dany said. “I believe around 40,000 decided to remain in Westeros.”

“Oh,” said Jon, stunned.

“The ones that stay are well aware that they submit to my rule, now and forever,” Dany said. “They will become true Westerosi in time, and will settle new cities on the plains. Is this a satisfactory solution to you, Princeling?”

“I didn’t even think of it,” Jon admitted.

Dany smirked. “I know. It was such an obvious solution, I’m not sure how you missed it when deciding it was all or nothing – either my barbarian army tramples Westeros underfoot or I’m left here defenseless evermore, was it?”

“Er,” Jon said. He couldn’t deny that. “Yes.”

“Oh, look at his face,” Jorah said, pinching Jon’s cheek, to which Jon scowled and smacked him away.

“I’m rather pleased myself,” Dany said, taking at seat at the table and looking down at the chessboard. “Are you losing? Isn’t this _your_ game?”

“I’m not losing, I’m teaching,” Jon said. “I want her to get a feel for the strategy.”

“I’ve had him in check three times already,” Missandei said proudly.

Dany laughed.

Jon, for so many reasons, felt like something of a dolt in that moment.

 

Jon sat in the wide ledge of his chamber window, watching the waves breaking against the rocks below. He was bored in a way he hadn’t felt for some time in Dragonstone, but he knew the reason why.

Dany was away for a sennight, having ridden off on Drogon to attend a dispute in the Iron Islands – no threat to her reign, but merely a feud between two branches of their noble house that required their Queen to mediate.

He’d read and rode and drank and diced, and four days into her absence he felt trapped and restless, fingers itching for action, something to occupy his hands and his mind when all he could think about was Dany.

A great shadow winged overhead, and he watched Rhaegal soar, briefly distracted from his thoughts by the unreal majesty of this creature, still incredible after all this time.

He turned in his seat, swinging both legs out of the window, one hand wrapped around a bar in his headboard for balance. He could keep Rhaegal in his view by leaning slightly out to keep the crenellations of the tower out of his eyeline.

Perhaps it was the motion of adjusting that caught Rhaegal’s eye, or just Jon’s pale skin against the grey-black of the tower, but Rhaegal spotted him and checked his flight, turning in mid-air to watch him.

“Oh, fuck,” Jon said.

Then Rhaegal dove, all grace and fury, beating those magnificent wings to slow himself just as he reached the tower, hovering to put his head in line with Jon.

Jon had to hold the window sill with both hands to brace himself against the currents of wind gusting from those great wings, struggling to keep from tipping either backwards into the room or forward onto the cliffs below.

Then Rhaegal caught hold of some grooves in the tower’s intricate design with his claws, likely sculpted for just that reason, and hung off the structure like a cat on the trunk of a tree. The wind died down all at once, leaving Jon flushed and breathless.

“The Seven, you’re a menace,” Jon said, putting his hand to Rhaegal’s cheek without hesitating, scratching there the way he seemed to like.

Rhaegal purred – there was no other word for the rumbling that burst from his chest, vibrating through Jon like an earthquake.

Then Jon did something extremely stupid.

He couldn’t say what caused it. Perhaps overconfidence from the trust Rhaegal had allowed him; perhaps restlessness had built up under his skin such that he had to vent it somehow; perhaps he’d always been a cocky fuck and this was just one in a series of many insane stunts. Perhaps sitting in that tower window in some weak imitation of flight, having been trapped in Dragonstone without knowing true freedom for so long, had warped his mind.

But whatever the reason, he took a deep breath and dropped down onto Rhaegal’s scaly shoulder, catching the spines of his neck with both hands.

To Jon’s credit, Rhaegal didn’t flinch, just leveled himself out so Jon could climb up him and straddle the spot where his neck met his shoulders where he’d seen Dany seated on Drogon days before. Jon’s instincts were clearly not wrong, and this dragon trusted him.

Then, suddenly, Rhaegal took flight. Those great muscles bunched under his legs and like an arrow leaving a bow they were airborne, wind blasting Jon with such force it was all he could do to clamp his knees and grip his fingers and hold on.

His eyes watered and his hair whipped at his face, breath punched out of his lungs in a gust, but the Gods it was glorious, like nothing he’d ever felt. _This_ was freedom, this was majesty. This was everything he’d dreamed and more.

Rhaegal spun round as he rocketed upwards, and then he caught a wind current under his wings and everything was suddenly still, Jon breathless and wondrous as they rested high above Dragonstone, looking down over the tiny island below.

“Oh, you’re beautiful, you vicious, incredible beast,” Jon said in a rush. “ _Good, good_ ,” he added in Valyrian, knowing Rhaegal had been trained in it.

Rhaegal shrieked, earsplitting and terrible and glorious, and then he dove, and Jon leaned low on his back and held on and prayed to the old ones that this wasn’t the day he died – though admitting to himself all the while that there were far worse ways to go.

 

Once Rhaegal had finally tired and taken them to the ground, Jon rolled off and flopped on his back, laughing at the sheer joy and terror of what he’d just survived, grateful to be on solid ground again and yet already dreaming of the next time he could be airborne.

He lay there until his limbs stopped quaking and his heart resumed its normal pace, then he pushed himself up and ran his hand along Rhaegal’s serpentine neck. “ _Thank you_ ,” he said in Valyrian, and Rhaegal twitched his wings and gave a little snort.

Jon stumbled back to the castle, still catching his breath, exhilarated, and then a hand caught him around the collar and dragged him into a nearby room.

“What in the absolute fuck was that,” Jorah hissed at him, wearing an expression of black fury like Jon had never seen.

“What?” Jon said. “I’m unharmed.” He knew his well-being under Dany’s care was a matter of great importance, but it wasn’t like he’d come to any injury.

“You rode her dragon!” Jorah snarled. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

Jon crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. “From my reaction, does it seem like I do?”

Jorah faltered, but only for a moment. “Dragons only allow themselves to be ridden by one rider,” he said. “ _Ever_. As long as you’re both alive, you are the only person who will ever fly on Rhaegal.”

“Oh,” Jon said. “Really?”

Jorah, evidently unimpressed by Jon’s responses, yanked him by the arm all the way to the library, putting him down in front of a book called _The Habits of Dragons As Witnessed By Archmaester Mulder in the Year 53 AC_.

“The chapter entitled _Dragonriders_ ,” Jorah growled. “Read it.”

Jon read it. Then he looked up, where Jorah was still pacing. “Did you ever think you should have had me read this _before_ I rode her dragon rather than after?” he said.

“I didn’t realize it was relevant,” Jorah said.

“You saw that Rhaegal allowed me closer than anyone else,” Jon said coolly. “You should have prepared for… contingencies.”

Jorah ground his teeth. “You’re right,” he admitted after some time. “I should have made sure you knew bloody well what it meant to ride her dragon. But you know now, so I truly pray you comprehend the consequences of your actions.”

“That… I’m Rhaegal’s dragonrider,” Jon said slowly. “That Rhaegal will only obey me henceforth, even over Dany. Is that right?” He looked up at Jorah.

Jorah gave a disgusted noise. “I hope you’re not this flippant when Dany finds out what you’ve done,” he said. “She’s liable to take off your head with her bare hands if you are.”

Jon looked down at the book, rubbing the hilt of his sword with his thumb. “Yes,” he said. “I know.”

 

He watched Dany arrive on Drogon three days later, nerves humming under his skin. He did some exercises to occupy himself and vent some of his restless energy, but he was back to standing at the window by the time she stormed in.

She entered like a thunderclap, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him to face her. “You bonded my bloody dragon?!”

Jon nodded.

She whipped him across the face with the back of her hand, which he probably deserved. He didn’t fight back, which seemed to annoy her even more.

“Do you have any idea,” she said furiously, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I’ll leave him here,” Jon said.

She stared at him.

“When I leave back to Winterfell – or Sunspear, after I’m wed – he’ll stay here with you,” Jon said. “Just because I’m his rider doesn’t mean he needs to stay with me. The dragons should be in Dragonstone.”

“He can’t stay here,” Dany said, fury melting into weariness, which made Jon’s stomach hurt. “He’s already unruly enough, but once his rider’s gone – do you think he’s like to obey me henceforth? You’re the only one he’ll listen to. He stays with you.”

“But –” Jon said.

“He stays with you,” Dany said sharply. “You’ll have to figure something out in Sunspear.”

Jon had promised himself he wouldn’t make any excuses. He hadn’t known the consequences of his actions, and that was the truth, but it didn’t really matter when the consequences had come about all the same. Dany’s dragon was lost to her whether or not he’d done it intentionally.

But the words rose in his throat like bile, and he struggled hard not to speak them, knowing it would be a slim consolation to Dany to lose one of her children out of sheer ignorance.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that they’re precious to you.”

Dany swiped her hand roughly over her eyes. “You _don’t_ know. You could never know.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, grimacing. “I _swear_ to you, I will never use him as a weapon against you.”

“That’s not why I’m – that’s not even the point at all, you clueless ass!” she shouted, glaring at him, but the glassy film over her red eyes stripped any menace from the gaze, and Jon stepped towards her without thinking, aching to comfort her in any way he could.

She slapped his hand away and staggered back. “Don’t!” she said.

Jon dropped his hand and stood, helpless and guilt-ridden, sick to his stomach of what he’d done.

“You have _no_ notion what you’ve done,” she spat, and she whirled out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Jon stood there for a long time.

 

He couldn’t sleep that night, and he spent long hours staring at the ceiling in regret. Finally, he gave up and threw off his covers, walking barefoot to the door and throwing it open.

Sure Spear and Grey Worm exchanged a look. “I heard the Queen was most wroth with you,” Sure Spear said carefully.

“She is,” Jon muttered, taking them on the familiar path through the castle to her chambers.

Dany’s bodyguards exchanged a similar look. But one shrugged and said, “Please proceed, Prince Jon,” and Jon breathed a sigh of relief, certain he’d done this one thing right, at least.

If Dany truly didn’t want him to come to her, she’d have told her guards to keep him out.

He entered her chambers and found her on her window seat, curled up in a ball, disheveled hair streaming around her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he scooped her up in his arms and lifted her, settling down with her cradled in his lap. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, rocking her against him, holding her tight.

“I should have warned you,” she whispered back. “You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t make me any less sorry,” he said, kissing her forehead, breathing her in.

“You should be,” she said, and she rested her head on his shoulder until she finally fell asleep and he carried her to bed, half-mad with regret himself.

 

In the late morning, he awoke to a sharp smack on the shoulder, and jerked up.

“Come,” Dany said. “We go flying.”

“Flying?” Jon said, certain he’d misunderstood her.

“If I’m to lose you both soon, I need to appreciate you while you’re still with me,” said Dany, dressed in her leather flying garb, her hair braided neatly down her back. “No use grieving a loss that has not yet happened.”

“I suppose,” Jon said, rubbing his face and staggering to his feet, still coming around to her complete shift of mood. “I’ll get dressed then.”

“Don’t dawdle,” she said, turning on her heel and walking briskly out.

He dragged on a clean set of clothes and rushed outside, finding her stroking Drogon’s muzzle, smiling lovingly at him. Jon stopped dead and stared. He hadn’t seen Dany smile in over a week, and he’d missed it.

Noticing him, Dany’s expression flattened. “I’ll have to teach you some Valyrian command phrases,” she said. “They don’t know any Common.”

Jon took a deep breath. He didn’t have to do this, especially not when she was so wroth with him already. But it was _because_ she was so wroth with him already that he admitted, “I learned Valyrian, actually. Since I came here.”

She looked sharply at him. “You learned Valyrian?” she echoed, like she didn’t quite believe it. “But you’ve only been here for a few months.”

“ _I’m a quick study,”_ Jon said in Valyrian, wincing. “ _Especially when I set my mind to it_.”

She stared. Then, with dawning fury, “You wanted to spy on me without me knowing it. Is that right?”

Jon hesitated.

“Fine!” she snapped, walking around Drogon’s flank, motions tight with rage. “Fantastic! I suppose I have nothing to teach you then.” She climbed up Drogon and straddled her with practiced ease.

“Dany…”

“Call your mount, Prince Jon,” she said, turning that ice-cold gaze onto him. “We fly.”

Jon couldn’t do anything but whistle for Rhaegal, after that.

 

Despite the situation, flying was just as exhilarating as it had been the first time, and Jon couldn’t help but luxuriate in the sensation, the incomparable swoop of his stomach as they leveled out high above Dragonstone, the fear and delight of it all.

“This way,” Dany called, and Drogon headed off into the great expanse of the open air, Rhaegal following him at a nudge from Jon.

They coasted for long enough that Jon was certain Dany loved flying as much as he did, felt the same pure and simple joy of it. Drogon seemed to have a fondness for great wheeling loops, but Rhaegal flew like an arrow, straight and true.

Jon’s curls were a mess from the salt and wind and spray off the sea when they finally touched down on a secluded little island far to the east of Dragonstone, squat and wide, nothing but black rock that had been beaten smooth by the waves over millennia.

Dany offered Jon a flask of water when he approached her. “Here,” she said. “I know it dries out your mouth.”

He took a few grateful swigs, then offered it back to her, but she was already looking away.

“Dany…” he said.

“My friends call me that,” she said, not turning. “I don’t know if you still deserve the privilege.”

“I learned Valyrian for two reasons,” Jon said. “Yes, one of which was to eavesdrop on any conversations you had in my presence thinking me unaware.”

She tossed her head, whipping her braid over her shoulder.

“But also because I didn’t like the idea that there was any part of you I couldn’t reach,” Jon said softly. She was a goddess come to life, and learning her language – it was a way to cross some of the gulf between them, clamber up even that slightest bit closer to her level.

She turned to him, then, even if her expression wasn’t quite forgiving.

“Nothing I did, or have ever done, was with the intent to hurt you,” Jon said. “If you can’t see that, then I’m sorry, but you’re not paying attention.”

“Do you think you’re helping?” she said coldly.

Jon carded his hand through his hair, finding it tangled and tacky from the sea air. He wrestled with his temper, but with some difficulty. He was starting to get angry himself, annoyed at being put on trial for something he couldn’t truly see as an offense.

“How do you not see how much I’ve given up for you?” he bit out, each syllable precise. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m sharing your bed, as much as I hate myself for doing it. I spend sleepless nights worrying about you. How can you not see –” He cursed, turning away. His eyes were welling up, and he felt ridiculous. What was there to cry about?

Dany said nothing, but he could feel her eyes on his back.

“I would give you back your dragon if I could,” he said flatly. “But I can’t, and maybe you can’t forgive me for that. If that’s the case, so be it. But if you think I would ever hurt you intentionally, or that it does not sorely grieve me to have done so, you’re wrong.”

Her touch between his shoulders made him jolt, then her touch on the back of his neck brought goosebumps to his arms. She whispered in Valyrian, _“I want so much more than you or any other man could ever give me, and I’ve blamed you unfairly for it. But this is my burden to shoulder, and I should not hold you at fault for its weight_.”

Jon turned. “I told you from the very beginning,” he said, voice hoarse.

“I know that,” she said. “And I did my best to listen.” She hesitated. “If you… If you should wish to end our relationship now before it grows any more tangled, I will understand. You need only say the words.”

Jon reached up, smoothing away a loose lock of her hair that had torn free of its braid. “You know I’m not going to do that,” he said.

She smiled slightly. “I’d hoped.”

Jon kissed her, letting her drag him down over her on the flat smooth stone while the dragons lazed in the sun around them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon needed a friend and I decided completely arbitrarily on Garlan Tyrell. Don’t tell me the ages don’t line up, I don’t want to hear it.

Jorah and Jon were locked in a close game of cyvasse that Jon was tentatively hopeful he would win when Dany swept into the room. “Jorah?” she said.

Jorah nodded and left.

Jon frowned, scrutinizing the board and trying to commit to memory his plans for the next few moves. He hoped the interruption wouldn’t throw off his momentum too much.

“I need your advice,” Dany said, taking Jorah’s seat across from Jon.

Jon looked up.

“Once yearly, I intend to host the lords of my eight kingdoms for a sennight of meetings and feasts,” Dany said. “Both because I want them to know that their council is important to me –”

“And because you want them somewhere you can watch them if they start any whispers of rebellion between themselves,” Jon said, leaning back in his seat.

Dany smiled. “They should know that I intend to keep them close, in every way,” she said cheerily. “That sennight approaches, and that’s where you come in.”

Jon raised his eyebrows.

“Would you prefer to be here for the duration of it, or shall I send you away with a guard and retrieve you once my guests have left?” she asked. “The decision is yours.”

Jon frowned, picking up a piece from the board and turning it in his fingers.

Knowledge was power, and it could only benefit him and his family to have full insight to the happenings in the South, eight kingdoms unified under one dragon-wielding ruler. It would be good to meet those lords again under friendly terms, reminding them that the Starks were by no means their enemies just because they did not fly under the standard of House Targaryen.

And yet… Being shown off as Dany’s tamed wolf was not a display of might by any means. She’d captured him, and any family in Westeros would know from his obedience that it was by her whim alone that his family lived and died. That rankled.

Besides, it would be dangerous to see Prince Doran here with the situation as it stood. Doran would surely come to his own conclusions about Jon’s familiarity with Dany, and that could create issues with the marriage contract between their families. If he weren’t present, what conclusions could be drawn? Out of sight, out of mind.

Jon weighed his options carefully, then he looked up at Dany. “I’ll stay,” he said, because he could make this work on his own terms, with some effort.

“If you’re sure,” she said carefully. “Now, I intend to keep Drogon close at hand for them to – _admire_. Rhaegal is a slightly more complex matter.”

It would be dangerous if anyone knew any sooner than necessary that Rhaegal did not obey Dany any longer. Surely, his presence would be a blessing on one hand – two dragons were twice as intimidating as one – but if they saw him fawning over Jon and knew that Dany had lost one of her two most deadly weapons…

“He’ll stay as well,” Jon said. “But I’ll take care not to go near him.”

Dany looked meaningfully at him. “Jorah would counsel me to send him away, just in case…”

In case Jon would see the benefit of reneging on this promise and showing the combined eight kingdoms that he had the power of a dragon in hand, she didn’t have to say.

“I won’t let him near me,” Jon swore, even knowing that it could only benefit his family to do so. “I swear to you, your lords will have no reason to think Rhaegal obeys any commands but yours.”

“Alright,” Dany said, smiling. “I appreciate that.”

“But I do hope my trust has earned me fair treatment in exchange,” he said. “Free rein of the castle during the meetings, as I have now. License to wear the clothes I want, wolf furs and Winterfell’s emblem. No call to obey your orders like a trained pup.”

“Of course not!” she said, shocked that he would think so little of her.

“Just checking,” Jon said, wincing. “Any other queen might have considered it, knowing how it would impress your lords to have tamed a Wolf Prince.”

“I am not any other queen,” Dany said, tossing her hair. “And I can impress my lords by my own merits, thank you very much.”

Jon took her hand and brought it to his mouth. “I’m sure your lords will be _duly_ impressed,” he murmured, kissing it gently.

Dany laughed.

 

The first boat to be sighted off the coastline came from the south, bearing the rose standard of House Tyrell. Jon regretfully pulled his hand away from Rhaegal’s hide. “You won’t see me for a sennight, my friend,” he told him. “Fly high and true.”

Rhaegal watched him leave with an expression like reproach.

By the time the contingent from the Reach had made their way up the cliffside ramp to the castle, Jon was watching with Jorah from a window high overhead. “There,” said Jorah, pointing to a balding head amongst the crowd. “Lord Mace.”

“Indeed,” Jon said. He frowned, seeing something else. “And… Garlan?”

“It appears so,” Jorah said. “The Lord must have decided to give his second son a practical education on diplomacy.”

Jon rolled his eyes at him, and Jorah grinned. They both knew that Garlan was there to see Jon. Confirmation that word had spread around the eight kingdoms by then. “It appears so,” Jon said, and put his fingers to his lips, emitting a piercing whistle that turned half a dozen heads below, including Garlan, who waved when he saw him.

Jon made his way to the front gates, arriving at the same time as the front of the Tyrell delegation. “Lord Mace,” he said, bowing his head.

“Jon, so good to see you!” Mace said, clasping his hand warmly. “You look well.”

“It must be all the endless sunshine,” Jon deadpanned, both of them knowing well that Dragonstone’s sunny days were few and far between.

“Indeed,” Mace said, chuckling. “Yes, yes, alright.” He stepped to the side, as much to avoid Garlan jabbing him with his elbow as to allow him to step up and talk.

“I was worried,” he said, grabbing Jon and hugging him.

“I have no idea why,” Jon said. “Go make your introduction to the Queen and then come find me in the stables. I’ll take you for a tour of the island.”

“Alright,” Garlan said, wrinkling his nose at him. “But don’t go running off on me just because you think you can avoid answering my questions. You can’t.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jon said, even more of a monotone.

“I’m _sure_ ,” Garlan said, shaking his head and following his father to the Great Hall.

 

Jon had his two favorite horses saddled and bridled by the time Garlan arrived, and broke off stroking Balius’ neck and whispering to him when he walked in. “Ready?” he said.

“Definitely,” Garlan said, stripping off his uniform cloak and dumping it in the corner. “Let’s do this.”

Jon swung on Balius’ back and waited for Garlan to climb onto Xanthus, then he led them at a canter onto the path around the island. They rode for some time, Jon gesturing at various landmarks and calling their names to Garlan, and then dropped to a walk once they’d reached the far side, letting their horses graze on the tall grasses.

Garlan twisted in his seat, looking back at Ereck and Glen, following at a distance. “That must have taken some getting used to.”

Jon scowled. “There’s no talking them out of it,” he said.

“Is it to prevent you from escaping, or to make sure you don’t do something stupid and hurt yourself?” Garlan asked.

“Both,” Jon said. “More the latter.”

Garlan looked shrewdly at him. “I’m guessing they know you would escaped already if you intended to.”

Jon nodded.

“I couldn’t believe when they told me you were the captive of the Dragon Queen,” Garlan said, nudging Xanthus up next to Balius and shaking his head at Jon. “What’s that like?”

“I can’t believe you were conquered by her,” Jon said flatly. “What was that like?”

Garlan laughed, but considered the question. “Do you really want to know?”

Jon glanced at him. “Yes,” he said after a minute.

“By the time she arrived, we’d been warned she was coming,” Garlan said. “We drew back the bulk of our forces into the inner walls of Highgarden, and spread out our arches and spearmen on the parapets.”

Jon watched him wordlessly.

“But I could tell that my father was anxious, and he and my grandmother shut themselves up in her chambers for hours in discussion. Then we heard it – that shriek, I’ll never forget it.”

“I know the one,” Jon said.

“I thought you would,” Garlan said, half-smiling. “I was watching the sky with Willas. It was hot – we were next to a vat of boiling oil, and I remember how much we were sweating. My hands were too slick to get a good grip on my bow.”

Jon hummed.

“And then from the clouds they came, bigger and grander than I’d ever imagined,” Garlan said, then glanced at Jon. “But you don’t need me to describe them. You see them every day. Do they ever lose their magnificence?”

“Never,” Jon said.

“I thought not,” Garlan said. “Our councilors said that her war chiefs would never let her do it alone. They said we needn’t fear the dragons, because she wouldn’t dare come to us in the towers without no one else to flank her back. They were wrong.”

“She’s fearless,” Jon said.

“A dragon in the flesh,” Garlan agreed. “She kept her dragon hovering overhead and called down to us, and by then my father and grandmother had emerged. She told them that she would spare their lives and the lives of our people if they bent the knee then and there. She would do them no harm, and would let them keep their status as Lord and Lady of the Reach, provided they recognized her as their true Queen and swore our swords in her name. Otherwise, she would show us the meaning of her family’s words and burn her way through every castle from Bitterbridge to Highgarden to Oldtown, and she’d leave them alive until the end to watch the carnage before allowing her dragons to tear their children apart before their eyes.”

“Sounds right,” Jon murmured.

“They didn’t pause before bending the knee,” Garlan said. “No discussion.” His face went shadowed. “I’ve heard men whisper of their cowardice when they don’t think I’m listening – or perhaps they know all along. But they say that my family feared for their lives and that’s why they surrendered. But that’s not why.”

“I know,” Jon said. “The battle was over before it began. Why need witness their people murdered before their eyes before they admitted it?”

Garlan nodded. “She’s kept her word, though. No harm was done. She collected a tax, placed a few of her trusted advisors in our council, and took a tenth of our men into her own army. Other than that, nothing has changed, not really.”

“She’s just,” Jon said. “I would not yet be here if I didn’t believe that.”

“I thought not,” Garlan agreed. “And here you are.”

“Here I am,” Jon said.

 

They turned their horses back to the castle and galloped the whole way, leaving no breath available for discussion until they pulled up to a walk at the castle gates.

Garlan halted Xanthus entirely, whistling as he watched Drogon wheel overhead. “I’d kill to see one up close,” he said. “Have you?”

“No,” Jon said shortly. “They’re feral creatures who’d maul anyone else who got near. Only she dares.”

“Damn,” Garlan said cheerfully, then nudged Xanthus back to a walk. “After how long you’ve spent here, I expected you might have found a way.”

“I like thrills, but I’m not suicidal,” Jon said. “I wouldn’t pet a rabid dog.”

He caught sight of Ereck’s smirk, and narrowed his eyes at him until he flattened his expression.

“I suppose,” Garlan said. “How has it been, though? Captive of the Dragon Queen for – months, now? In _Dragonstone_ , how awful.” He made a face.

“The castle never gets any better,” Jon said. “But I’ve otherwise found the treatment… acceptable.”

They rode in silence for another few seconds. And then, “Yeah,” Garlan said. “She is _that_ beautiful, I guess.”

Jon scowled at him.

“What, not like you didn’t notice,” Garlan said, cracking up. “You of all people being willingly held captive? If it weren’t for your ridiculously lovely gaoler of a Queen, you would have stolen a rowboat and headed for White Harbor.”

“Fuck off,” Jon muttered. “She’s your Queen, not mine.”

“I’m not the one who’s been living with her for months,” Garlan said, sing-song.

Jon spurred Balius into a trot to escape Garlan, who followed him, cackling.

“But really, you know I jest,” Garlan said when they were unsaddling the horses. “I know you’ve been nothing but respectful to the Queen, Northron honor and all.”

“Yes,” Jon muttered, hating himself.

“And Arianne knows it too, never fear,” Garlan said. “She’ll tell you herself when she’s here.”

Jon whipped his head up. “Arianne’s coming?”

“Drat, I wasn’t supposed to reveal that,” Garlan said, snapping his fingers. “She’s coming with her father for the meetings, but it’s supposed to be a surprise. Can you fake it, or will your famous Northron honor chafe to lie even such?”

“Sure,” Jon said, mind furiously spinning. “My Northron honor can take a day off.”

Garlan laughed.

 

Jon didn’t have a chance to warn Dany, or send anyone else to warn her, because the Dornish contingency had already arrived by the time he and Garlan made it back to the castle proper. Jon and Garlan walked in the main gates just as Doran exited the Great Hall.

“Prince Jon!” he said, surprised, clasping Jon’s hand just as Mace had. “Will you be joining us for the meetings?”

“Unfortunately not, Prince Doran,” Jon said, half-bowing. “Though my family and the Queen remain on genial terms, we are not formal allies and thus are not privy to her councils.”

“Ah, too bad,” Doran said. “You always were wiser than most full-grown men, you and your brother both. Oh, Arianne!”

Arianne peered around her father. “Hello, Jon,” she said.

“Arianne!” Jon said, widening his eyes.

She giggled. “Look at you, actually keeping a secret for once,” she told Garlan.

Garlan’s answering laugh was obviously faked, but Arianne was too busy staring at Jon to notice.

“I wanted to come see you,” she said. “It’s been so long, and… I’ve been concerned.”

“I don’t know why people keep saying that,” Jon said. “I’ve been a guest of the Queen. She would never let harm come to me.”

“I know that, but – with those dragons around, and all…” Arianne said, tucking a lock of dark curly hair behind her ear.

“Even Jon’s smart enough to keep his distance from those menaces,” Garlan told her.

Behind him, Ereck coughed, but fortunately no one else seemed to notice. Jon glared at him, just in case.

“I’ve been perfectly safe,” Jon said. “You know the Dragon Queen is merciful.”

Arianne nodded. “Would you mind showing me to our chambers, Jon? You must know this castle very well by now, and I should like to lie down before dinner.”

“Of course,” Jon said, unable to come up with a good reason not to. He led her away, Ereck and Glen following a polite distance away.

Arianne noticed anyway, glancing over her shoulder and whispering, “Who are they?”

“My guards and gaolers,” Jon said. “Pay them no heed.”

“Um, alright,” Arianne said. She lowered her voice yet further – Jon wondered if he should warn her that there were no secrets in Dragonstone. “I came for a second purpose as well.”

Jon arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve been here for months and she’s shown no sign of letting you go,” Arianne said. “Your nameday approaches in four months. Will she have excused you from your captivity by then, or…?”

Four months, by the old ones. He’d lost track of time. “I don’t know,” Jon said honestly. “My father has not yet delivered the sword she demanded, and here I am yet.”

Arianne frowned. “Surely there must be something that we could do. Perhaps an offer of another hostage to take your place?”

“I don’t think she’d accept anyone but my father or Robb,” Jon said, which was also the truth but felt less honest somehow. “She knows to keep her friends close and her enemies closer.”

“Yes,” Arianne said, frowning deeper. “But she should also know to keep her allies happy. You and I are meant to be wed. Does she know that?”

“Yes, she knows,” Jon said.

Arianne huffed. “Perhaps my father can speak with her about it, and some arrangement can be met.”

“Perhaps,” Jon said neutrally, heart pounding hard in his chest.

 

Arianne spent the next full day glued to Jon’s side, and Jon found himself daydreaming alternately of sinking into bed with Dany and soaring in flight with Rhaegal. Six days, he told himself. He could make it six days.

Six days, and the rest of his life, but he was trying not to think about that.

He was headed back from the midday meal with Arianne at his side when they turned the corner and found themselves face to face with Dany and Jorah. They each stopped dead.

“Your Grace,” Arianne said, sweeping into a low curtsey.

“Queen Daenerys,” Jon said, inclining his head.

Dany smiled, sweet but cool. “Prince Jon, Princess Arianne,” she said. “Well met.”

Jorah glanced between them and asked, “Oi, we still on for cyvasse tonight, Jon?” He’d been affecting a thick country brogue around the lords, which amused Jon.

They had no such scheduled match, but Jon knew it for the offer it was, and gratefully took it. “Yes,” he said. “After dinner?”

“Aye,” Jorah said. “Where you headed?”

“Riding,” Jon said, because it was the only escape from court pleasantries he had while they were all there.

“Ah,” Jorah said. “Don’t stray too near them dragons.”

“Of course,” Arianne said. “We’ll keep a safe distance.”

“Never a good idea to upset a dragon. Dead territorial, they are,” Jorah said, and his tone was bland but Jon knew it for the warning it was.

“Wise council,” he gritted out. “We’ll stay away. Queen Daenerys, by your leave?”

“Of course,” Dany said, her smile several degrees cooler, losing some of its sweetness.

Jon ducked his head and led Arianne around them towards the stables.

Arianne glanced back once they were out of earshot. “I thought you were on friendly terms with the Queen?”

“Friendly is relative,” Jon said. “We aren’t close.”

“Oh,” Arianne said, relaxing, and Jon wanted to bash his head into a wall.

 

Late that night, a knock came on his door. Hardly daring to hope, Jon leapt up and went to open it.

It wasn’t Dany, but it was Missandei, which seemed a good sign to him. “Your presence is requested in the Chamber of the Painted Table,” she said. “Your input is required to provide an accurate count of men your father can claim under his standard.”

“Of course,” Jon said, jamming on his boots and following her. Missandei left him at the base of the stairs of the Stone Drum, and Jon climbed them alone, circling round and round until he reached the top floor. Even Ereck and Glen stayed behind.

He’d been up there before, but not since they’d placed tokens on the table to represent the forces held in each kingdom, different quantities crowded into wider or tighter spaces. Looking at the table, Jon’s eyes were immediately drawn to the densely packed army camped on the plains of the Reach – the Dothraki horde, he knew.

He had to admit, when he imagined the table without them, Dany’s forces looked sparse compared to the rest of the combined might of the eight kingdoms. He could see her reservation better now.

Dany didn’t glance up when he entered, standing at the head of the massive table and looking down at the barren emptiness of the North. She was backlit by the flickering torches, keeping her expression a dark mystery. “Good, you’re here,” she said. “These tokens represent twenty knights, and these represent one hundred infantrymen. These red ones are fifty archers. Do you mind?”

“Yes,” Jon said, circling the table and approaching her at a slow walk. “The North is not one of your obedient vassal kingdoms, and I’m sure you can see why I would choose to keep our forces swathed in secret.”

“It was worth a –” She fell silent when he curled his hands around her face and tipped her into a kiss, _melting_ against him until he seemed to be holding her up at the lips alone.

He broke away, staying close. “Is that really why you called me here?” he whispered into the scant space between their lips.

Dany buried her face in his neck. “I told myself I wouldn’t force anything on you,” she said. “Knowing that your bride is here – perhaps her appearance stirred your Northron honor back to the fore, and I wasn’t going to press…”

“Never,” Jon said, touching her cheek. “Don’t you know by now that my honor is secondary to you?”

She laughed breathily. “I hoped,” she said, tipping her face up and kissing her again. “I still can’t receive you in my chambers, it’s too risky. But I wanted to see you.”

“You’re envious of Arianne,” Jon said bluntly.

She pressed her forehead into the curve of his neck again, head bowed. “You know that I am,” she mumbled into his skin.

“I would swear that my heart belongs to you alone, but I don’t suppose that helps,” Jon said, running his hand up the graceful arch of her spine.

Her laugh was small, but real. “It does, a little,” she admitted.

“Would it help further if I fucked you right here on your fancy table?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

 _This_ laugh was its normal melodic chime. “It definitely would,” she said, fingers locking in his collar and holding tight.

“Then I’ll do my best to ease your mind,” Jon said, sweeping the spare tokens off the North and sending them spilling to the ground. He lifted Dany and laid her out on her back on the table, white-gold hair pooling around her like a halo.

She was no angel, he knew, but by the Gods she looked like one.

 

When he pressed his cock inside her, they both had to stifle quiet noises - her a whimper and him a groan. He paused, intending to give her time to adjust, except she just dragged him forward with her feet until he gave in and buried himself fully inside her.

There was a frozen pause. Jon dropped his face into her neck, panting, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding himself still. She stroked her hands over his hair, his shoulders, his back, clutching at him like she was desperate to keep him close.

Dany turned Jon’s face up to meet her eye. She nodded.

Jon started to move, and this time neither of them could stifle their reactions, harsh exhales and soft little sighs. They moved together, fluid and deep. Dany dragged at his shoulders with her fingernails, sharp pinpricks of sensation that only accentuated his pleasure.

There was no muffling any of the sounds anymore - the lewd sound of flesh meeting, the rustling of their clothes, the repetitive thudding of her body being rocked against the table, the whimpers he drove out of her with every rock of his hips. Jon silenced those by kissing her, but even that only created a new symphony of their mouths meeting wetly, uneven panting escaping whenever their lips parted.

“Jon -” she said, half a sob, and Jon cursed and redoubled his efforts, the easy rhythm shifting into something harsh and staccato and deep, really driving into her until she was shaking beneath him with every thrust.

After an eternity or an instant, she dragged him down and clamped her thighs tightly enough around his hips to lock him in place, head arching back as she shuddered with a soundless cry. Her cunt worked over his cock, clenching down tight in rhythmic waves that made him grunt and force his hips forward, tipping over the edge and spilling inside her until he’d spent himself completely.

He slumped over her, exhausted and sated. He felt like he could sleep for days.

“Jon,” she murmured, skimming her hands over his shoulders and tipping him up into another kiss.

“Dany,” he said.

 

So passed an excruciatingly long sennight, each day longer than the last. Garlan was the saving grace, keeping him from too many awkward moments alone with Arianne, but Jon couldn’t help but count down the hours until the meetings wrapped up and the lords and ladies returned to their homes.

Finally the last day came about. Jon took as long as he could doing his exercises in the morning, and finally emerged towards the end of the breakfast meal.

Arianne found him there, wearing a pensive frown rather than her normal smile.

“What is it?” Jon said, halfway through an apple.

Arianne leaned in slightly. “My father says he asked to speak with Queen Daenerys regarding your sentence, but was directed to address her advisor instead – Ser Jorah?”

“I know him,” Jon said slowly, unsure where this was headed.

Arianne chewed her lip. “He spoke to him, but he came out looking rather anxious. I’m worried she won’t excuse you for the wedding and we’ll have to delay it further.”

“Perhaps,” Jon said. “I could not yet say.”

“If that is the case, could you do your best to convince her otherwise?” Arianne said. “I know you are not close, but if there is anything you could think to offer…” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t wish to delay our union.”

“Yes,” Jon said, which probably wasn’t sufficient, but he couldn’t think of anything else. After a beat, he added, “Certainly.”

“Thank you,” Arianne said. “Four months is some time to change her mind. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Yes,” Jon said again. “Definitely.”

Arianne shot him a puzzled smile, but didn’t make a fuss.

 

They left that day, and as soon as their boats had disappeared over the horizon, Jon and Dany raced Rhaegal and Drogon across the sky until even the dragons were exhausted of flying.

It was the first time in a sennight Jon had been able to breathe freely.

 

But before things even had a chance to settle down, there came a missive from Winterfell by raven. When it was brought to him, the wax seal was still intact, but he didn’t delude himself into believing he was the first to have read it.

_Jon –_

_Prince Doran of Sunspear has announced the dissolution of your marriage contract with his daughter in a most abrupt manner. We have cancelled our wedding arrangements and retrieved the Stark wards who had been guests in his home. Please advise if you have done him insult, or if we should take this as a reflection of bad faith on his part alone. Write back_.

_\- Eddard Stark_

Jon ran his tongue over his top row of teeth and considered this. Then he shoved to his feet, missive in hand.

 

He stormed into Jorah’s chambers, where Jorah sat sprawled on a low seat, feet propped on the table as he was wont to do. “What in the bloody fuck is this?” Jon said, thrusting the missive at him.

Jorah didn’t even pretend to read it. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” he drawled.

“What did you do?” Jon said. “I did Prince Doran no insult when I met him, so I have to assume someone else got involved, and there’s only one person who comes to mind.”

Jorah shrugged.

“That’s not good enough,” Jon snarled. “Explain your actions now.”

“That girl was the only thing preventing you from wedding Dany,” Jorah said, very calm. “I did what I needed to do.”

Jon’s blood rushed in his ears. When he composed himself enough to speak, all he said was, “What?”

“Even before Dany saw you and went stupid over you and concocted all kinds of nonsense reasons to keep you chained at her side, I would have advised her to wed you,” Jorah said. “Your family is her only threat in Westeros, so better to make alliance with it than war. You’re well-educated and well-bred and I already know you to provide her with good council. _You’re_ the one who worries about the danger of future generations of Targaryen royalty against your beloved North. Don’t you think having a half-blood Stark on the throne might do something to resolve that?”

“I – yes,” Jon said, losing his righteous indignation.

Jorah swung his feet onto the floor with a heavy thud. “You _bonded_ with her bloody _dragon_!” he said. “Did you really think I was going to let you get away after that?”

“No,” Jon said, because Jorah had always been more practical than Dany. Numbly, he asked, “Does Dany know?”

“No,” Jorah said.

Jon ran his hand through his hair.

“I know you dislike manipulation, but surely you can see this only benefits you,” Jorah said. “If the betrothal never existed in the first place, what would have prevented you from wedding Dany already? And what will you do now that nothing holds you back?”

Jon hesitated.

 

He found Dany in the window seat of her solar; she looked up at him with a bright smile and said, “Look, the dragons are playing.”

He sat next to her, watching the way Rhaegal and Drogon spun in the air, spitting streams of flame at each other, dodging and weaving and splitting off and coming back together. “Beautiful,” he said.

“I know,” she said, smiling and resting her chin on her knees, watching with obvious pleasure.

Jon watched her instead, captivated by the warmth in her eyes. Then he said, “I’m going to take Rhaegal to Winterfell.”

Dany’s eyes snapped to his, her expression flickering from shock to hurt to icy rage. “Excuse me?” she bit out.

“I’m taking Rhaegal to Winterfell to tell my father I plan to ask for your hand in marriage,” Jon said. “And when he gives his blessing, I’ll come back.”

 _“Oh_ ,” she said, mouth open. “But what about…?”

“That contract has been dissolved, by the wish of Prince Doran,” Jon said, letting her piece together for herself Jorah’s involvement. “And now nothing prevents me from wedding you – if you wish.”

“I –” Dany said.

“Wait,” Jon said. “I have to speak with my father first.”

“Alright,” Dany said, a little dazed.

“And you would bid me come back after I do?” Jon checked, coaxing Dany to answer without answering.

“I would,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and smiling at him. “I would bid you _hurry_.”

“And I will,” Jon said, taking her hands and kissing them one by one.

 

Rhaegal could fly for monstrously long distances without tiring, Jon found, catching the currents of air to coast on so he wouldn’t have to exert the energy himself. If anything, Jon was the only problem, growing sore like he was riding a horse for the very first time, his thigh muscles unaccustomed to the stretch.

He had Rhaegal land once they’d crossed the Bite, settling him down in an open field with no sign of civilization in either direction. He had Rhaegal under some control, but it seemed wiser not to risk it.

Jon gratefully stretched in place, easing the ache of his thighs and lower back. He walked a short distance away to look out over the cliffside over the bay below, relishing the bite of cold in the air. He’d missed the North.

Then someone screamed behind him.

“Oh, blast,” Jon said, spinning and finding Rhaegal twice as far away, viciously tearing into a ewe from a flock of sheep that Jon hadn’t noticed.

Jon sprinted across the distance, skidding to a halt by Rhaegal’s side, finding the shepherdess cowering where she stood, too frightened to move. The sheep had gathered in a bleating pack some distance away.

“It’s fine, he’s with me,” Jon said, approaching her cautiously. “I’ll take him away very soon, once he’s… finished.” He glanced back over at Rhaegal with a grimace. “I’m sorry about the loss of your sheep, here, take this.” He offered her a handful of stags from his pouch.

She stared up at him and didn’t move.

“Here,” Jon said again, opening his hand and dropping the coins in her lap. “Sorry. It will only be a few minutes.”

Rhaegal was brutally efficient at stripping the meat from the bones. Jon moved over to place himself between the woman and the scene. It was the least he could do.

“Sorry,” he said again once Rhaegal was contentedly cracking the bones and drinking the marrow from them. “Goodbye.”

He climbed on Rhaegal and caught two of his spiny neck ridges with his hands, holding tight. “ _Up_ ,” he commanded, and Rhaegal took flight, causing a flurry that sent the woman tumbling on her back.

 

They reached Winterfell in only another few hours, and Jon held Rhaegal hovering above them out of arrow range, knowing he would receive a different welcome here.

Surely enough, it only took a minute before the courtyard filled with archers and spearmen, with commanders barking sharp orders for them to prepare for battle. Jon had prepared for this, and took the rolled banner from his back, unfurling it and letting it hang in the air, visible for all to see –

Winterfell’s grey wolf on its white background.

There was a commotion on the ground, and he was beginning to wonder if they were all too stupid to see what was happening when he spotted a figure burst out from the castle and shout a command, and the men lowered their weapons at once, clearing out of the courtyard as quickly as they’d rushed into it.

“ _Down_ ,” Jon commanded Rhaegal, and he took them to the ground, landing in the empty courtyard, where Robb waited.

“By the Seven,” Robb said, approaching fearlessly and clasping Jon’s arm. “You’ve been busy.”

“It’s been an interesting few months,” Jon agreed. “Is Father here?”

“Inside,” Robb said, eyeing Rhaegal warily. “Though I don’t suppose you can leave this monster to his own devices.”

“Rhaegal,” Jon said. “ _Hunt.”_

Rhaegal took off in a great gust of wind, sending Robb stumbling; Jon had practice planting his feet by then.

“And he won’t devour any humans while he’s out?” Robb checked.

“Dany had him trained to hunt only animals before I ever met him,” Jon said. “I can’t promise he’ll stay away from people’s livestock, but he won’t touch the humans.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask,” Robb said. “…Dany?”

Jon pressed his lips together. “Where did you say Father was?”

 

When Catelyn caught side of him, her expression went complicated, and she approached him and stood before him with her hands clasped. “Jon,” she said. “I’ve been worried.”

“I told you, I was treated well in her company,” Jon said patiently. “She’s always been kind to me and granted me every freedom I could wish.”

“You bonded her dragon,” Robb commented. “I’d say _more_ freedoms than anyone could wish.”

Jon nodded at him.

“You bonded her dragon?” Ned said in disbelief. “Is that good? Will she not take that as an insult?”

“I bonded Rhaegal,” Jon said. “She had already bonded Drogon. A dragonrider can only take one dragon. I did nothing wrong.” This wasn’t precisely true, but it was safer to say than the real explanation.

Ned nodded slowly, taking this in.

“And now I’ve ridden Rhaegal here to tell you that I plan to wed the Dragon Queen, and ensure I have your blessing to do so,” Jon said, only a little nervous.

They had to see all the benefits the way Jorah did, right?

“Yes, I think you’d better,” Robb said dryly, but Robb was always one step ahead – it was Ned’s opinion that truly mattered here.

“You intend to wed the Dragon Queen?” Ned said. “The Mad King’s daughter? Explain yourself.”

“Yes, Jon,” Catelyn said, folding her hands. “Tell us what happened in your months of her captivity that made you think she would make you a suitable wife.”

Evidently, they did not see this the way Jorah did. “It benefits our house to have a Stark on the throne,” Jon said. “The Targaryen dynasty won’t be a threat to the North now or ever with Northron blood mixing with hers.”

“There are always mad folk that turn on their own kin,” Ned said. “You cannot guarantee you know what may yet come in the future.”

“I suppose I can’t,” Jon said calmly, “but I will be the father to these children, and I will raise them with respect and honor. That is more than I can say for any other king that may yet sit by her side.”

“True,” Ned said after a minute.

“Queen Daenerys is not correct in everything she does, but she has a good heart and pure intentions,” Jon said. “And I am not correct in everything I do myself - who among us can claim such a thing? She is a wise, just woman who truly loves her people. She heeds my council and trusts that when I speak, I speak for the good of her realm. I would sit by her side and advise her, tempering her worst impulses and steering her in the direction of clemency and restraint.” He knew he was laying it on thick, and that Dany would listen to him only when she saw the value, but it was more important for his father to believe thus than to be fully honest.

Ned paced around his desk and stroked his chin, considering this.

“And Catelyn, she is truly good to me,” Jon said. “She admires me and confides in me and worries about me. From the very first day, I’ve been drawn to her. Only the betrothal to Princess Arianne kept me from pursuing this course of action before.”

“I see,” Catelyn said after a minute.

“And I bonded with her bloody dragon,” Jon said. “It’s something of a commitment.”

Robb snorted.

“Alright,” Ned said abruptly. “I can see your mind is made up – and I _do_ see the benefits to the union. You may wed your Dragon Bride.”

“If you love her this much, I’m sure that we can learn to love her to,” Catelyn said. “But… might I beg one favor?”

Jon raised his eyebrows.

“Do try to see if you can hold the wedding in Winterfell?” she said. “I’ve heard such _awful_ things about Dragonstone.”

Jon laughed. “My Lady, it would be my genuine pleasure,” he said.

 

The first thing Jon did when Dany arrived in Winterfell was take her to the glass garden – she’d been so captivated by his description of the winter roses.

Dany was beautiful always, but surrounded by white snow and the frost-blue flowers she reached a whole different level, a loveliness that was almost impossible to gaze upon without averting the eye. She was something out of a fairy tale, the Maiden come to walk the earth.

She looked even better in black wolf furs, her white-gold hair stark in contrast, eyes vividly purple against the dark. Jon stared until she swatted him and ordered him to give her a tour of the grounds.

She looked around curiously as he led her around Winterfell, not seeming to notice the stares from everyone they passed. As beautiful as she was, she’d probably become immune, he reflected.

At the godswood, she paused. “So this is where we are to be wed?” she said, turning to him.

Jon nodded.

“Tell me about the wedding ceremony,” she said. “At my first wedding, I was but a girl of 14, helpless and servile and arranged at the whim of my husband and his khalasar. This time, I would know what to expect.”

“Northron weddings are short,” Jon said. “Jorah will bring you to me in front of the weirwood tree there.” He pointed. “We will recite the ritual words of the marriage – don’t worry, we’ll teach you – and upon your agreement of taking me as your husband, we’ll join hands, kneel before the heart tree, and bow our heads in prayer.”

Dany hummed her understanding.

“Then we’ll rise, and…” Jon hesitated. He hadn’t considered that she might not accept this part of the ceremony. “I’ll remove your maiden cloak, and replace it with a cloak in Stark colors.”

“Hm,” she said, considering this. “On the one hand, I respect the ritual and I would not wish to cause a fuss among my new goodfamily over issues of mere tradition…”

“But on the other hand, you will not start our marriage with a symbol of subservience to my house?” Jon said.

Dany nodded. “I am a Khaleesi and a Queen,” she said. “I need protection from no man.”

“Perhaps…” Jon hesitated. “Perhaps after I replace your cloak, you could do the same for me?”

She stared at him. “You would do this for me?” she said. “Wear a Targaryen cloak among your father’s bannermen?”

“I’ll have to ask our maester if I would be breaking some sacred tradition, but yes,” Jon said. “I would wear your colors. I’m already riding your dragon around and moving to your ancestral castle, I can’t pretend House Stark is the one coming out on top here.”

She laughed. “I would not wish you to think yourself subservient to me either,” she said carefully. “I should like you to consider yourself my equal – provided you understand that it is I, and not you, who rules the eight kingdoms as their Queen.”

“I understand this,” Jon said. “And I will be proud to sit beside your throne and give you council – provided you understand I will never be your pet to come when you call.”

“I understand this,” she said, and kissed him. She gripped his arm tight. “Gods, I wish I could have you,” she said, but they had agreed that it wasn’t worth the risk of sneaking away, not when they would have a lifetime together if they waited but a sennight for the wedding.

“Soon, my Queen,” Jon said, brushing her hair from her eyes.

 

Late at night once his younger siblings were abed, Jon lounged on the sofa of his father’s solar, lulled into a doze by the mead and the fire and the comfort of being back in his own castle.

Thinking of something, he made a mental note to bring Dany to the hot springs after they were wed. She would probably be convinced to move up to Winterfell herself once she experienced them.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door opened and Dany and Catelyn walked inside, bright with laughter and warmth.

Jon cracked his eyes open and watched them, pleased that they seemed to be getting along.

“Hello, lazy thing,” Dany said, ruffling his hair. “Is it past your bedtime?”

“Did the final touches on the gown go well?” he murmured in lieu of answering.

“Yes!” said Dany, delighted. “It’s so beautiful, you won’t believe it. Ivory silk and Myrish lace and –”

“Leave a little to the imagination!” Catelyn chastised. “Let _something_ be a surprise on the wedding night.”

He knew she didn’t intend it that way, but Jon choked, Robb snorted, and Ned sighed from his desk.

“Oh, you know I didn’t – _boys_ ,” Catelyn said, shaking her head.

“What was your last wedding like?” Robb asked Dany as a peace offering to his mother.

Jon glanced over. She’d brought it up earlier, he remembered, but the conversation had moved forward before he’d thought to ask her for details.

“I was young and terrified, so much of it is a blur to me, but I’ll tell you what I do remember,” Dany said, sitting on the couch and arranging her skirts around her. “Dothraki weddings occur in the day beneath the sky. Large-scale weddings like mine last the whole day, and as I recall, some forty thousand Dothraki attended, feasting and drinking and dancing and fighting.”

“Fighting?” said Catelyn.

Dany nodded. “Oh yes, and not playfighting, but real fights. I was told that a wedding without at least three deaths was seen as a dull affair. There were at least a dozen at mine.”

Catelyn clucked her tongue, but Robb looked fascinated.

“After the day of revelry, I was given my bride gifts. Handmaids, to teach me how to ride, how to speak Dothraki, and how to… love.” Dany tucked her hair behind her ear and hurried on. “Jorah gave me books from Westeros, in Common. I can’t say how many times I read those books. Illyrio gave me my dragon’s eggs. And my husband’s bloodriders each gave me a weapon, which I was told to refuse and pass to my husband instead.”

“Nothing from your husband?” Ned grunted, unimpressed.

Dany smiled slightly. “My husband’s gift came last – a grey filly. The horselords take their mounts seriously, and this one was the offspring of high breeding from both parents. He gave me the wind.”

For the first time, Jon had to swallow down a kernel of jealousy. All the stories he’d been told had only made Khal Drogo grow taller and stronger in his estimation, but hearing the clear fondness in Dany’s voice is the worst thing yet.

“And that was the end of the wedding?” Catelyn asked.

Dany pressed her lips together. “Yes,” she said carefully, and Jon knew the custom that she’d left out, shared in every culture he knew of – but he didn’t want to hear about Drogo bedding the younger Dany. Bad if she had enjoyed it, worse if she hadn’t.

But she’d chosen Jon. That mattered.

“Are we finished with the inquisition yet?” Jon drawled. “If not, can we be?”

Dany laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Would you prefer I return to the conversation I was having with Robb earlier?”

Jon looked between them, frowning.

“She was wondering what you were like as a child,” said Robb blandly. “I told her a few stories.”

“Oh, the Seven,” Jon said. “No, let’s go back to interrogating her about Dothraki customs, I much prefer that.”

“I thought you might,” Robb said, and Dany tipped her head back and laughed.

 

He was starting to get a little antsy halfway through the sennight, ready to finish with the wedding preparations and move on with his life, and he knew Dany could tell. So he wasn’t surprised when she sought him out while he walked around the yard, though he hadn’t expected her to have Robb in tow.

“Your father gave us permission to take a day trip,” Dany said brightly, hefting her picnic basket.

“Oh?” Jon said. “Where are we headed?”

“The Wall,” Robb said, handing him a mound of furs. “Put that on.”

“The – what?” Jon said, and Dany put her fingers to her lips and emitted a piercing whistle.

At first, nothing happened. Then the dragons burst from the clouds like a bolt of lightning. Jon couldn’t blame the men at arms for cursing and diving for cover.

“The Wall,” Jon said, slinging on his furs. “And the dragons won’t mind? I thought you said they only take one rider.”

“They’ll take other passengers provided you’re there too,” Dany said. “Didn’t you read that chapter?”

“Right,” Jon said, and he climbed on first, arranging his furs while Robb clambered on behind him. “Hold tight,” he said, then, to Rhaegal, “ _Up_.”

Robb clamped his arms tightly enough around Jon that he found it even more difficult to draw breath on the ascent than usual. Once they were airborne and coasting on the currents, he pried Robb’s arms off and laughed. “Perhaps I should rephrase,” he said.

“The Gods, you’ve gotten used to that?” Robb said.

“It took some time,” Jon admitted. “Incredible, though, isn’t it?”

“Quite,” Robb murmured, shifting to look down at the long stretches of wilderness as they passed underneath.

Jon let him admire the scenery without distraction, and it took only a few hours of easy flying before they spotted the Wall in the distance.

Jon angled Rhaegal closer to Drogon so Dany could hear him call, “Castle Black, on the ground!”

She nodded and leaned forward, commanding something he couldn’t hear to Drogon, and her dragon started to make his spiraling descent to the ground.

“ _Down_ ,” Jon ordered Rhaegal, who followed, settling to a gentle landing on an open clearing outside of the castle gates.

Rhaegal shuffled in place, clearly displeased with the cold and snow and unimpressed to find himself there.

“ _Wait_ ,” Jon commanded him, and Robb slid off first, Jon following him to the ground.

By then, faces were popping up on the ramparts, the residents of Castle Black running to see with their own eyes the visitors who had come to greet them.

“Well met,” Robb called, while Jon soothed Rhaegal with scratches under his chin. “Greetings from Princes Robb and Jon of Winterfell, and the Dragon Queen Daenerys Targaryen.”

“The dragons follow our orders and will bring you no harm, provided you keep a safe distance,” Jon called. “Queen Daenerys wished to see our famous Wall in her time touring the North.”

A new head popped up over the parapet. “Oy, what’ve you black bastards gotten yourselves into now? You bringing trouble to my door?”

Jon grinned, and Robb called, “Always, Benjen. May we come in?”

“Aye, you can enter, as long as your dragons stay out there,” Benjen replied.

“ _Wait_ ,” Jon told Rhaegal sternly again.

Drogon looked at the ground, then let out a stream of blistering hot fire, sending the men cursing and diving back behind the parapets. But he just used it to melt the snow and heat the ground below himself, curling up contentedly in the warm spot left behind. Rhaegal gave a shriek, then followed suit, warming his own spot and settling on his belly over it.

Dany looked at Jon. “Perhaps we ought not take too long,” she said.

“Probably,” Jon said, leading her into Castle Black with a hand low on her back.

 

Inside the castle, the men stared just as fixedly on Dany as they had at her dragons, and Jon remembered how long it had been since any of them had seen a woman – not counting the weathered and filthy whores in Mole’s Town. Dany was as different from those woman as night to day, and the fact that she was a blooded Queen didn’t keep them from noticing.

“Queen Daenerys, the good men of the Night’s Watch,” Jon said coolly. “Benjen, men – meet Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.”

“Aye, she’s a mouthful _and_ an eyeful, I’m sure,” Benjen’s second in command said, openly leering. “Weren’t impressed enough by that castle in Winterfell, needed to come witness the true glories of the North for yer own self, eh?”

Jon opened his mouth to command him to mind his fool tongue, but Dany slipped her hand into his and squeezed, a gentle warning. “I have walked the Black Walls of Volantis and the high walls of Pentos,” she said clearly. “Gazed upon the great pyramids of Astapor and taken residence within the even greater pyramids of Meereen as its queen. I’ve crossed the Red Waste with a khalasar that I won the right to call my own through fire and blood. All this I did across the Narrow Sea, even before coming to Westeros and conquering eight kingdoms with my dragons as my sword arm and my Dothraki horde as the strength of my spine. I have personally laid ruin to enough _glories_ to know that winter comes for us all, so believe me when I say that I am here to witness your mighty Wall as a mere curiosity, and nothing more.”

There was a stunned silence. Benjen’s mouth hung open. Robb raised his eyebrows.

Jon just smiled, because Dany was a woman born to give grand speeches. “My bride is not one to be condescended to,” he told the men. “I’d think twice before doing so again.”

After another moment, Benjen tipped his head back and laughed. “I said your dragons had to stay _out_ , remember?” he said, then offered his hand to Dany. “Benjen Stark, pleasure to meet you. Brother to the princes’ lordly father.”

“Queen Daenerys Targaryen,” Dany said, accepting his handshake. “The pleasure is mine, good ser.”

“So will you be wanting a tour of Castle Black as well, or did you just come to witness the mere curiosity high above?” Benjen asked.

“As much as I would love to accept your kind offer, I think it unwise to leave the dragons unattended in the cold for too long,” Dany said. “They mislike discomfort, and you would not wish to see the way they make that displeasure known.”

“Got it,” Benjen said. “Carry on, then. Give the boys up there a fright.”

“Our pleasure,” Jon said, nodding at him.

“And congratulations on the wedding, Jon Snow,” Benjen said. “Treat her well.”

“I plan to,” Jon said.

 

Atop the Wall, the dragons perched like eagles, staring around distrustfully. The guards manning the wall kept a safe distance, eyeing them with just as much misgiving.

Dany walked to the edge and looked out over the vast wilderness below. Jon hung back, watching her on high alert, ready to leap forward if she took a step too far.

“Is this mere curiosity everything you didn’t dream of it being?” Robb teased.

“Oh stop, you know I only said that to prove a point,” she said, laughing. “It’s magnificent, though. Truly a remarkable feat of engineering. It’s hard to imagine how it came together.”

“Magic, according to legend,” Robb said. “Brandon the Builder, with the aid of children of the forest. They carried great chunks of ice cut from frozen lakes on sledges from the haunted forest.”

“They say there are spells built into its foundations to keep the Others from passing through,” Jon said.

“The Wall defends itself,” Robb agreed.

Dany looked to them. “Others?”

“Monsters of Northron legends,” Jon said. “The cold gods. Tall white beings with burning blue eyes that steal children in the night.”

“They can raise an army of the dead, and normal weapons are no use against them,” Robb said. “Only dragonglass can pierce their cold white flesh.”

“Dragonglass?” Dany said.

“Obsidian,” Jon said. “The black rock that Dragonstone is built on.”

“How fortuitous,” Dany said.

“Almost like it was meant to be,” Robb said.

 

They’d scarcely landed back in Winterfell before Arya showed up. “Ser Jorah was looking for you,” she told Dany.

“Oh, thank you,” Dany said, smiling. “I’ll see you later.” She kissed Jon’s cheek, then headed inside.

Once she was gone, Arya punched Jon in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“I can’t believe you took Robb flying on your dragon before me,” she said. “You owe me at least _two_ rides before you head back to Dragonstone.”

Jon laughed, grabbing her in a headlock and ruffling her hair. “You have no idea how relieved I am that they’ve utterly failed to make a lady out of you in my absence,” he said.

“Good luck trying that,” Robb said, smiling.

“Yeah, good luck,” Arya snorted. “But seriously!”

“Seriously, I’d be happy to take you flying,” Jon said. “Better yet, you can visit me in Dragonstone and come flying with me as often as you’d like.”

Arya gasped. “I don’t care if that was a jest, I’m talking to Father about that tonight. Could I really?”

“Absolutely,” Jon said. “It’s not as thrilling as you probably wish it would be, but…” He shrugged. “There are dragons, so.”

“And sellswords who could teach me to fight properly!” Arya said. “The best I’ve managed is playing at sticks with Mycah.”

“I’ll talk to Father,” Jon promised.

“Excellent,” Arya said, pleased. “And _don’t_ offer the same invitation to Sansa.” She giggled. “She’d be so jealous. She’s started wearing her hair in braids like Dany, have you seen?”

“Don’t be snide,” Jon said, flicking her forehead.

Robb snorted. “She isn’t jesting. Sansa seems quite enamored of your bride. Her respect for you must have increased tenfold that you’ve managed to snag such a proper, highborn lady.”

“I should have Dany tell her the story of the time she ate an entire raw horse’s heart,” Jon mused. “See how she feels about her then.”

“Promise you’ll let me be there for it,” Arya said, eyes huge.

Jon laughed. “But no, the invitation is of course issued to Sansa as well. Any of you may come if you wish.” He glanced at Robb. “Although you might not be able to get away, focused as you’ve become on learning your kingly duties.”

“Father’s been a sterner taskmaster ever since your Queen stole you away,” Robb said. “And it’s a long trip to Dragonstone, unfortunately.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually holding the wedding here,” Arya said. “How’d you pull that off?”

“Dany’s first wedding was enormous, so I think she was pleased to be given the excuse to have a more intimate ceremony,” Jon said. “And we’re making up for it by having some grand processional tour of her kingdoms for the entire two months after the wedding, to allow people the chance to congratulate us without having to travel the distance themselves.”  He grimaced, already dreading their visit to Sunspear.

And, really, dreading the whole trip in general. If he hadn’t loved Dany quite so much, the expectations of courtly manners and the excessive ritual of a king’s duties would have been enough for him to take back his proposal.

“Oh,” Arya said, thinking about this. She smirked. “They’re going to make you comb your hair, aren’t they?”

Jon groaned.

“And dress in silks and velvets,” she continued, sing-song.

“The Gods, she’s the Dragon Queen, not some cosseted painted princess,” Jon growled. “I expect I’ll be able to wear whatever I want – _she_ always does.”

“And learn to use all the different forks!” Arya said. “Have you learned to use all the different forks yet?”

Robb stood back and laughed, loudly.

“You know what? No dragon rides for you after all,” Jon said, making a show of rolling his eyes and marching inside the keep.

“Wait, seriously? Jon – Jon, wait!” Arya said, chasing after him.

He could still hear Robb laughing in the distance, and he smiled.

 

The day before the wedding, Jon ran into Dany leaving his father’s solar. He looked around, making sure no one was there to see but the guards she’d brought from Dragonstone, before swinging Dany into his arms and kissing her long and sweet.

She cupped her hands around his face, kissing him back just as sweetly.

“One more day,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “If I can bear it.”

“One more day,” she said. They fell into step walking down the hall, her guards following behind them. “Though I have enjoyed the chance to see where you came from. I didn’t realize how little I knew of Northron ways before I came here, but there’s much more to your people than cold honor.”

Jon nodded. “Is that why you were with my father?”

“Yes, and to sit with him, monarch to monarch, and assure him that I value him as a friend for more reasons than being my goodfather,” she said. “I haven’t forgotten what began all this.”

“I’m quite sure my father no longer lies awake in fear of your armies,” Jon said.

“I don’t think he’ll ever trust me, truly,” Dany mused. “I think one of the reasons he allowed you to wed me is to have someone in my court who he knows will stand against me if I should decide to conquer his kingdom after all.”

Jon pressed his lips together. He could not deny this.

“Would you?” she said.

Jon looked at her.

“Would you ride Rhaegal against me in battle if I decided to take the North?” she said.

“Do not ask me to answer that,” he said quietly. “I should hope that I would have many opportunities before then to turn your mind away – I would hope that you would ask for my council before going to war. But do not ask what I would do if you were hell-bent on conquering the kingdom of my father, for I do not know what I’d say.”

She grinned. “Good enough for me that you called it _the kingdom of my father_ , and not _my kingdom,”_ she said.

“My kingdom is my wife’s empire, and I know this,” Jon said, smiling wryly. “Let me ask you a question in exchange.”

“Ask, and I will answer,” she said.

“Would you ride Drogon into battle beside me if –” He hesitated, coming up with a scenario. “If the Others rose again beyond the Wall and marched south towards the kingdom of my father?”

“Without hesitation,” she said. “At your request, I would turn the haunted forest to ash.”

 

“Jon,” Missandei hissed as he headed outside with Robb, uncomfortable in the starched formalwear they’d outfitted him in.

He turned.

She beckoned. _“She wants you to see her first_ ,” she said in Valyrian.

Jon hesitated, but only for a second. Then he told Robb, “You go ahead.”

Robb nodded and clapped his shoulder before continuing on.

Jon followed Missandei down the hall to the room that they’d set aside for the bridal preparations. She rapped her knuckles lightly and said, “I have him.”

“The door’s open,” Dany said from inside.

Jon slipped into the room and stopped dead at the sight of her.

She stood at the window, light streaming over her, making her hair shine and her skin glow. As she’d said, her gown was white silk and lace, but the dressmaker must have seen how washed out that would have made her with her white-gold hair and pale skin, so black pearls studded the bodice where white ones traditionally would have laid. The contrast was magnificent.

But Dany was always beautiful, that wasn’t a surprise. Still, Jon hadn’t anticipated how noble she would look, standing there lovely and stately as a statue. She looked like a character from a book, someone who could dissolve a village to ash in the blink of an eye, just as easily as she could stand before a thousand strangers and command their allegiance with a single word.

He had never seen her eyes reflect so much light.

“Dany,” he said, choked.

“Jon,” she said, reaching out to him.

He caught both her hands, lifting her wrists to his mouth. “Because I can’t kiss your mouth,” he murmured, kissing each in turn and making her tremble like the world was collapsing beneath her.

“Damn this face-paint,” she choked out. Her hand shook as she raised it to his cheek, smoothing her thumb over it.

Jon’s eyes fell briefly closed at her touch. “The ceremony,” he said.

“Fuck the ceremony, let’s elope,” Dany said.

Jon laughed. “Come,” he said, tugging her to the door. “The sooner you’re mine, the better.”

“Likewise,” Dany said, and together they walked to the godswood, where their friends and family were waiting.


End file.
